


A different Blue

by Jdragon122, Neonbat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Combined Mythology, Creative use of genitalia, Creature Castiel, Creature Fic, Fisherman Dean, M/M, Mentions of minor alcoholism, Naga, Naga Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 15:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14917929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jdragon122/pseuds/Jdragon122, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonbat/pseuds/Neonbat
Summary: Everyone knows of the lone island miles out from the coast, a noman's land where ship after ship has met their end on the jagged rocks surrounding it. Local folklore warns fishermen away, and anyone with half a brain knows to listen- Except Dean Winchester.Dean Winchester is a second generation fisherman making do with his lot in life. After Sam leaves him for college, Dean admits, he's struggling, but this is all he knows. He never expected a solo trip out on a tip would upset his life in ways he could never fathom.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a BLAST writing this. Thank you so so much for the lovely Jdragon122 for the inspiration. Your art is amazing and just, AHHH I loved writing for it SO MUCH.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jdragon122/profile
> 
> Also a special thanks to besotteddean for betaing! <3

“Dean, I think it’s a dumb idea. You’re going to get yourself killed out there.”

 

Dean sighed, struggling to balance the phone in the crook of his shoulder while he bent to tug on his work boots. “I’ve gotta Sam; it’s too good a tip.”

 

He could hear Sam snort, spoon clinking in what was no doubt a cereal bowl. The kid had never gotten the hang of being able to fix anything but cereal or a salad, no matter how hard Dean had tried to teach him the basics. “At least wait til someone can go with you. I don’t like you being out there alone Dean.”

 

A small, bitter part of himself thought that he wouldn’t be going out alone if Sam hadn’t left for college like a big-shot, but he didn’t have time to entertain that pettiness. Dean was happy for Sam. Really.

 

It was just… times like these that sucked more than others.

 

“Benny has a new kid, and Ash broke his foot. I’m fine Sam; I can make a damn halibut run.” Dean grumbled as he stood to zip himself into his heavy, water-resistant jacket. The bulky coveralls made him look like the great pumpkin, but they were warm and kept him from freezing his ass off during the cold nights at sea.

 

Sam sighed, the weight of his frown felt over a hundred miles away. “Just be careful Dean and no drinking. I’m serious. If the coast guard calls and tells me your drunk ass fell off the deck, I’m going to- to-“ A note of frustration leaked into the kid’s voice. Sam was a freshman in college, and Dean could never think of him as anything else but ‘the kid.’ ”-you know what I mean! Be safe!”

 

The brown bottle sitting half-empty to his right in the squat cabin was a scarlet letter. Even though Sam wasn’t there, he’d known. Dean frowned, scowling into the phone as he snatched it from his shoulder. “What are you, my mom?” He regretted it as soon as he said it. There were some subjects they didn’t talk about, and Mom’s death was one of them.

 

“Sam, I’m- “

 

“No, whatever Dean. Go fucking fish with a beer in your hand. End up just like Dad.” Sam snapped, and the line went silent.

 

Groaning, Dean scrubbed a gloved hand over his face. He took another glance at the beer, sighed, and chugged it. It was only one. It wasn’t going to hurt him when he’d just gobbled down a roast beef sandwich from the pier an hour ago. Sam was overreacting, as usual.

 

He stood to look at the old girl, giving the boat a once-over. The Poughkeepsie hadn’t been a looker when his father bought her years ago, and she was getting on in the years, but she was still a sturdy boat. Serviceable enough for his needs.

 

After making sure the longlines were untangled, and the hold still had a functional layer of ice, he readied her for the day. The chances of getting back before dark were slim to none, but he’d faced worse before.  The waters were choppy against the pier, biting against the shoreline in a moody curl. The winds were strong today, and not at all the weather he liked to take off in, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. With the mortgage for Dad’s old house piling up, Dean needed a decent season to get back on his feet, or else.

 

He’d received a good tip from one of the local salts last night about one of their fish finders picking up a big school out near the Island a few miles offshore, but that was an area where most locals stuck to their P’s and Q’s. Too many good boats had run up on the jagged rocks lining a good portion of the shore, and there were rumors of waters able to tug you into the Island’s grasp. A number of people had died a few decades ago, and when the body count began to climb the locals took notice and steered clear, good fishing be damned.

 

But leave it to Dean Winchester to spit in the face of local wisdom and haul ass right for it. He wanted that payday.

 

Admittedly, he’d never gone this far out before, at least not in this direction. When Benny was with him, they ventured out north a bit, but he didn’t stray this far south alone. Dean didn’t believe in local hocus-pocus, but he’d lived around seafaring folk long enough to listen when people warned caution. He wouldn’t go out here acting the fool, but tales of old deaths and shipwrecks weren’t going to prevent him from checking it out for himself.

 

He stepped out on the deck with a thermos of coffee, watching the waves filter by. Gulls were left by the shore, and soon there was nothing but a stretch of dark ocean. Spray kicked up over the coaming, threatening to salt up his coffee. Scowling, he tugged his knit cap down a little further and angled his shoulders away from the spray, determined to enjoy his brew out on deck instead of the weathered wheelhouse.

 

It felt like a lifetime until the lone island crept into the horizon. It wasn’t a huge land mass, but large enough that it was a shame no one could get to it easily. He wouldn’t mind casting anchor and kicking around there if he could. A bonfire on an island sounded like the perfect way to woo a cute pair of legs.

 

Not that he’d seen any action lately.

 

Since his father went and died and Sam ran off to college on scholarships and wishful thinking, Dean hadn’t been getting a lot of downtime. Sam was his other pair of consistent hands on deck, and all their money had been pooled together. After Sam left, he had to start sharing that pool with whoever he could get to join him for the day, and it was eating into his savings. He wouldn’t be able to keep going like this, not forever- and he knew it.

 

His first coffee was empty, and the temptation to go in and ‘Irish’ up a new one was strong.

Another sigh ghosted his lips, and he turned back into the cabin to drop his thermos off and decrease speed. A few more minutes and he paced on deck, gathering the longlines off a set of rods jerry-rigged into a few old wood pallets he’d picked up at the back of a Home Depot. Loads cheaper than he could buy in stores to keep his lines untangled and neat.

 

The pungent scent of chopped up fish and octopus still turned his nose, even to this day. There was something about warming, chunked bits of flesh that he couldn’t get used to. Live fish or even freshly-dead fish was alright, but when they’d been sitting on deck for a few hours- Well it could get ripe fast.

 

The first anchor and buoy went into the sea with a small grunt. The first line of hooks went taut and began dropping off deck in a neat and orderly descent. Each length was made up of an extended length of fishing line with more threads hanging off it in intervals- a snood, hooks of meat hanging at the end. The last line dropped, and the final buoy was swept off deck after a few minutes, and all he had to do now was wait.

 

Another thermos of coffee and a half a sandwich later, Dean started the process of hauling up the first line. It was slow going, and technically he was sure he was breaking about fifteen different laws, but no one was out here to call him on it either.

 

“Damn.” He cussed, chucking aside an unfortunate ‘bycatch,’ which was merely a type of fish he hadn’t meant to catch in his lines. It was something Sam chewed him out over time and time again. The Poughkeepsie had too many instances of bycatches, and it was going to get them in trouble one of these days, but Dean didn’t have the kind of cash to upgrade their system. Getting the fancy brightly colored lines to reduce birds snagging the bait and being drowned in the pull of the weights had been expensive enough with John alive.

 

Birds.

 

Dean looked up, finally realizing that there should be birds swarming, but there wasn’t a squawk or splash. Just silence. This close to the island he’d expect something to be in the air, but there was nothing but sky above. Even with the brewing clouds, there should be some sign of life.

The boat rolled unhappily on the choppy waters, and Dean snagged his glove on a sharp hook after shoving his latest catch into the hold. “Fuck.” He wrestled his hand free, conscious of the hair on the back of his neck bristling. There was a shift in the air, something he could only pathetically describe as the ‘heebie-jeebies.’

 

He worked a little quicker to clear the first line.

 

Low notes caressed the choppy waves, lulling the troubled waters into a rolling ripple. At first,

Dean wasn’t even conscious of the voice, too focused on his task to realize something had changed. The notes grew louder, deep and bass.

 

The lines dropped on deck before he was ever conscious of doing so. Dean stood, fumbling to the starboard side to look towards the island. The voice over the water swelled, sweeping into a baritone that undulated notes Dean could barely conceive. There weren’t words in the wind and water, but sweeping tones that caressed his skin, raising gooseflesh.

 

His heart sped up in his chest, and a cold sweat began to bead under his cap and coveralls.

Between the Poughkeepsie and the island, something moved in the water. At first glimpse, Dean thought it was nothing more than a school of fish close to the surface, but it moved too fluid. It was too long. Flashes of paler, glittering blue caught the light, and for a delirious moment, Dean was sure he was looking at a massive eel or snake in the water. The glimpse of scales was gone as quick as it came.

  


 

The volume of the music increased, pulsing against his skull, staggering him under its intensity. He groped a handout, catching the railing with a ragged breath.

The next moment he was entering the cabin, lurching for the steering column with a single-minded determination. Need was pushing in from all sides, begging him to kick the engine back on and steer closer towards the island. Something was there. Something wonderful.

 

His hands trembled against the steering column as he swung it around, uncaring if he dragged the remaining length of his lines behind him. The fish weren’t as important as getting to the island.

 

The faint memory of jagged rocks around the island flared briefly to life in the back of his mind, but that too felt unimportant.

 

He steered closer, the song boring down on him from all sides. It was as sweet as it was merciless, biting into his flesh and clawing its way back out with the promise of paradise once it was done. Dean wanted to drown in it, cast himself into the sea and let it eat away at him until the burning itch within his chest quelled.

 

Ahead of him, something slithered onto a large boulder jutting up from the tip of the island. Dean’s eyes blurred when they drifted over the creature, large and imposing, coiling itself on the rock. The singing was deafening now.

 

His head lolled, forehead slamming against the steering column on his way down.

 

The pain bloomed red in his vision, and his body came back to him in a rush of sensation. His heart was beating like a hummingbird in his chest, and his hands were sweat-slick enough his first attempt at gaining control of the steering wheel left him scrambling.

 

Rocks loomed ahead perilously close. “Shit shit shit!” He spun the wheel about, and the Poughkeepsie lurched with a groan. He scrambled to cut the speed and kick the engine into high gear. The old engine sputtered, unused to pushing past a pleasant stroll on the water. For a dizzying moment, Dean was sure he was going to run up on the rocks.

 

The engine kicked to life, and the Poughkeepsie swung about, narrowly missing tearing up her port side against an outcrop of jagged rocks reaching out for her weathered hull like fingers.

 

“The fuck?!” Dean hissed, wheeling around to stare back towards the island in search of whatever he’d seen pull itself up onto the rock. Nothing was there, only the waves crashing against the treacherous shoreline of the otherwise innocuous island.

Dean set his course back towards land and didn’t stop until he was a few miles out. By the time he thought to pull in his remaining line most of his catch had been ruined, and his line was worse for wear. Still, nothing on the planet could have made him stop the boat and pull the line in after what he’d seen.

 

The fatigue of running on pure coffee and adrenaline didn’t set in until he’d unloaded his haul for the day and stepped over the threshold of the small, but well-loved home set against a lonely hillside overlooking the sea.  Every time his mind tried to drift back to what he’d seen, his body instinctively put a stop to it. A hard punch of fear bubbled in his gut, and Dean hurried to strip himself of his coveralls and fall onto the threadbare couch. Never in his life had the stale scent of a ten years’ worth of John’s smoking and countless spilled beers on the off-blue couch smelled so comforting.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The island haunts Dean's dreams, coaxing him back. He knows it's a bad idea, but when has he ever listened to that little voice in his head warning him away?

 

Sweat beaded on his forehead, clinging to the canopy of his sun-bleached brows. Dean shifted in the jumble of blankets, kicking them off to the foot of the bed. The bed groaned protests every time he turned or wiggled. He’d stripped down to his boxers in his sleep, t-shirt cast over the side of the bed to the blue and orange rub below.

 

_Deep, gravelly notes caress his skin, prickling the fine hairs over his body to attention. A point. A touch ghosted the back of his neck, tracing around the delicate flesh until it could stand poised over the swell of his Adam's apple. A claw._

 

“Fu..fuck.” Dean groaned in his sleep, flopping over onto his back, head craning into his pillow.

 

_Something slithered against his leg, dry_ _but pleasant. The deep undulation of the singing shifted octaves, rolling up into a higher swell that had his body thrumming in harmony._

 

Dean sighed, fisting the sheet below with a quiet whimper into the darkness.

 

_A figure loomed over him, shrouded in a nameless ink that blanketed him. Dean could see nothing in this dreamscape, only flashes- silhouettes. Nothing made sense in the here._

 

_The touch trailed down, down, dipping between the valley of his pectorals. It pressed, drawing a thin red line down the center of his chest and stomach. It trailed lower, stopping just above his navel._

 

He shivered in his sleep, lips parting in a soundless plea.

 

_The touch withdrew. For a dizzying moment, he strained in the dark, arching after the hand. The air shifted, and the beginning of a smile curled on his lips as anticipation strained his muscles._

 

_There was promise in the voice singing to him, crooning into his flesh like the gentle urging of a lover. Promise of heaven. Promise of hell. Promise of everything in between._

 

_In a horrible crescendo the soothing notes began to scream, and in the same moment, the claws in the darkness descended upon his prone body. Nails dove into the awaiting flesh of his stomach, ripping through the muscle to the warm, wet innards below with the ease of a knife through cheesecloth. There was no resisting, only pain._

 

Dean jolted upright with a shout. He groped wildly at the sheets, orienting himself back in reality when he could still feel the ghost of agony pulse from his lower body. And something much, much worse.

 

He looked down, staring in a fascinated horror at the prominent slick spot soaking the front of his boxers.

 

“J-Jesus fucking Christ.” He groaned, flopping back onto the bed to try and calm the frantic beating of his heart.

 

He had a lot of nightmares over the years, but nothing that left him scared, trembling and aching in his own filth. What the hell had that been? What kind of nutcase had a wet dream that turned into that? It had felt so goddamn real. He could have reached out in the dark and touched whatever sang to him, grasped it and-

 

Dean sat back up, slinging his legs over the side of the bed to stomp his way to the bathroom. He’d showered before bed, but he was coated in a sweat, and his boxers were sticking to him in ways he didn’t want to think about. He slammed the faucet on and shimmied out of his soiled underwear, chucking them haphazardly into the half-full laundry bin for his weekly run. He hesitated before stepping into the shower, biting his lip to turn and regard the door with a trepidation he hadn’t felt since the first time he’d spent a night in the house alone.

 

After the lock was clicked, Dean returned to the shower, hopping under the warm water to clear away the traces of the bizarre dream down the drain, and hopefully gone forever.

* * *

 

 

“It was fuckin’ weird I tell you.” Dean puttered around the kitchen the next morning, smearing a liberal amount of butter on his toast before he poked at the bubbling bacon in the cast iron skillet.

 

“I don’t know Dean, it- kind of sounds like you’ve been listening too much to ol’ Rufus at the Roadhouse.” Sam snorted, the sound of his fingers flying over the keys of his laptop; something

Dean had grown increasingly used to over the years. Sam had an ease with technology Dean couldn’t even begin to match.

 

The bacon was forked over the toast, and a glass of orange juice completed his minimal effort breakfast. He’d save the bacon fat for cornbread to take out on the boat. “I’m not shittin’ you, Sam. I saw something out there! I wouldn’t ruin a damn line for nothing!”

 

A small sound of thinly veiled scoffing punched out from across the receiver. "Yeah, okay, Dean. Maybe you… Dipped a little deep in the bottle. You’ve done it before.”

 

Dean paused mid-bite, the delicious bloom of crispy bacon over buttered toast dying on his tongue. "The fuck is that supposed to mean? I wasn’t drunk, Sam! I’d had one fucking beer all day. And since when do you keep tabs from California?” Here they went again. Every friggin time they talked lately it devolved into this.

 

“Don’t- Do that Dean. Dad said the same crap and look what happened to him! Is it that hard to believe you just lost track?” Sam insisted.

 

He had to suck in a deep breath to keep from throwing the damn phone across the kitchen. “I had one beer, Sam. I swear. Don’t fuckin’ compare me to Dad. I’m not Dad, dammit!”

 

The line went still, and Dean was sure Sam had hung up on him again. Finally, Sam sighed.

"Yeah, okay, Dean. Fine. Look, I’ve got to get this paper out, it’s due later, and I’ve still got a few pages to write. Take care okay? Eat something other than bacon and beer.”

 

“Go eat a salad, hippie.” He grumbled, taking another large bite out of his sandwich.

 

Sam weakly chuckled, “Later Dean.”

 

“Bye bitch.” Dean hung up before Sam could huff a reply, a small smile hovering on his lips.

The room always felt too big for just him after he hung up with Sam. It was only a few years ago when John would clod through in his heavy boots, rumbling about some idiot at the market, or complaining about this or that. Sam was never far behind, head in a book or on his laptop.

There was life in the house then. Even with the arguing, or the nights where John would drink too much. There was room to breathe.

 

Now there was just still air.

 

A week had passed since he’d seen that thing out there on the rocks, and it consumed his mind, waking and dreaming. It ate away at him like a fever. He wanted to know what he’d seen as much as he wished he could throw the memories into the sea to scatter forever. Every time his mind strayed back to the island, dread coiled in his stomach, melding with an electric stirring that begged him back to danger.

 

He had to know. For his peace of mind, he had to go back.

 

It took an hour to unearth the knife stowed among his Dad’s old things, in need of a good oiling but sharp enough to bead blood at the tip of his thumb. The handle carved from antler gleamed with a good shine, sturdy and weighted in his hand. It would probably be best to bring a gun, but they’d never had need of one out here in this sleepy coastal town. Fishermen and their families lived around here, with the errant hunter settling in the cabins out a few miles. There was little need for guns unless you hunted big game, and the Winchesters had turned their hunts towards the big blue.

 

Getting to the island without being weighed down by ice kept in the fish hold was the easy part but deciding what to do after that was treacherous. At first, Dean couldn’t find a likely spot to creep up on the craggy shore. After what felt like his hundredth circle around the island, he found a spot he would risk. He anchored as close as he dared, jumping down into the chilly surf to shimmy the rest of the way up to shore in his waders.

 

It was pure madness. He knew this…he couldn’t stop now. He was so close to the edge of something that there was no going back from it. The weight of the knife in his hand dug into his palm, magnified by the fear that he’d have to use it on something other than gutting fish. He’d been in fights in his days, cracked plenty of skulls, but he’d never felt this sure that he was walking towards danger in his life.

 

He started up the shore, immediately noticing the driftwood was surprisingly sparse. There should be a lot of debris clogging up the area, churned up by the sharp rocks dotting the shoreline. Instead, there were wavy lines in the sand, long and broad, that, he knew it sounded crazy, sort of reminded him of the patterns of a ‘Zen’ garden he’d seen while channel surfing through some home-decorating channel.

 

The sand gave way to rocks, making the going a little more treacherous. The tree line provided more stable ground, and Dean took a moment to breathe and look around while he leaned on one of the tall, dark green trees.

 

He could hear birds now, a small blessing. Had the pervasive quiet been there, he didn’t think he would be able to keep his nerve. The sound of birds and the waves licking against the shore made him think Sammy might have been right. Nothing seemed weird or off about the island now, save for the nagging sensation of danger burning in his stomach.

 

Well, he was there, he might as well look around. Who knew when the last time another pair of boots had been on this island with all the folklore warning people away.

 

The longer he explored, the more he was convinced that there was something on the island. Sometimes he’d find the remains of large fish bones scattered in a shallow pit, almost as if something put them there on purpose. Other times he could see great scrapes of bark missing from the lower sections of the trees, or lower branches snapped and hanging.

 

He was nearing the center of the island where there was a large hill shooting up from the tree line, stooped slightly towards the east of the island.

 

Dean stepped into a clearing at the base of the hill, and immediately he knew he’d made a mistake.

 

Something was here because something was living in this section of the island. The dip at the base of the hill had been worn down deep into a shallow bowl, sand gathered inside, larger and wider than he was tall. Crude clay covered pots lined stacked underneath a small lean-to made up of stripped, worn branches, shining with a layer of glistening oil. The birds had gone silent again.

 

By the time he realized there was something behind him, it was too late.

 

Something hit the back of his legs with bone-rattling force, sending him to the ground and knocking the wind from his lungs. Stars blossomed in his vision upon impact, and through the swimming scenery, he saw a mass loom over him.

 

A horrible sound between a hiss and a growl filled the silent air, creeping up his body and turning his blood to ice.

 

Dean scrambled to right himself on his butt, scrabbling at the ground in a vain attempt to get distance between himself and the thing towering over him. He hit something solid and warm as soon as he groped his hand back, and a sharp squawk of horror tore from his throat. The mass behind him was scaled, smooth and broad.

 

There was no escape.

 

His eyes finally focused up, trying to parse out what he was seeing before him because nothing that he could see made sense. A man towered over him, framed in the sunlight trickling in from the canopy above. He was broad shouldered with wild hair framing an angular face, but that’s where things stopped making sense.

 

Instead of nails, great blue claws tipped the ends of his fingers, gleaming syringe-sharp. ‘His’ body rolled as the creature crept forward, and Dean’s eyes pulled down. Instead of legs, there was- He could only describe it as the body of a snake because that’s exactly what it looked like.

 

A thick, solid trunk of a snake’s scaled body undulated in a slow roll that coiled the blue length closer around Dean’s prone body.

 

Dean gasped when the tail started tightening around his middle, the tip whipping around to wrap around his legs, crushing his knees together hard enough for him to cry out.

 

The creature dove forward, clawed hands clasping around his forearms, claws shredding the

thick fabric of his waterproof jacket like it was nothing more than tissue paper.

 

“Why are you here, Human? I did not call you.” The being growled, lips peeling back from ivory-white teeth until two needle-like fangs slipped down from the roof of his mouth, fat drops of liquid pooling at the tips.

 

Dean trembled in the grip, craning his head back away from the creature as far as his position would allow.

 

A lump dug into his hip from the ground, and it was then that he remembered his knife.

 

Grasping it when he was pinned was difficult, but the snake-creature didn’t seem to notice him reaching for the knife.

 

The knife blade swung out with a thumbed flick, and Dean jabbed up into the solid slab of muscle coiled around his middle. The blade bit past a few scales, but the hide was too thick even for the razor-fine edge.

 

  


He didn’t get the chance for another strike. The being slashed a hand out, knocking the blade from his hand and claws, cutting into the meat of Dean’s forearm.

 

“Sh-shit!” Blood warmed the sleeve of Dean’s flannel underneath the layer of his jacket, fast pooling down his arm and leaking from the hem of his wrist. “W-wait!”

 

The creature’s eyes narrowed, a radiant blue where Dean could have sworn they were a milky white just seconds before. “For?” He prompted, head tilting as a long, forked tongue slipped past the surface of his pink lips, darting out just mere centimeters from Dean’s face.

 

“I didn’t…I don’t…Sh-shit you can speak English?” It wasn’t at all what Dean wanted to say, but that’s what he managed to get out.

 

The creature’s head tilted, and he leaned closer still. Dean bit back a whimper at the invasion. Instead, he grit his teeth, angling his face away as the snake-thing bowed close enough where it could feel the heat rise from the human’s prone body.

 

“I called you before. Days ago.” The thing rumbled, and a sharp ripple pulsed down the length of his coiled tail.

 

As quickly as the creature had seized Dean, it released him, tail withdrawing from around his torso and legs in a faint flex of scales.  Dean gasped, sucking in greedy lungfuls, then reached to check his legs for damage. Nothing was broken, but he was sure to sport a hell of a limp out of his bad knee later- If he survived till ‘later.’

 

“You were…the thing that was singing to me last week. Weren’t you?” Dean tried to get to his feet, but a sharp hiss had him plopping right down to his backside on the hard ground. "Got it, staying put. See?” He held his palms out, trying to look as non-threatening as he possibly could.

Considering he was streaked in blood and dirt now, he figured he looked about as threatening as house cat that had been left out in the rain.

 

The snake being slithered a full circle around Dean, tail arching out to an impressive length. The tail of the ‘man’ was easily six times the length of his torso, glimmering with multiple tones of deep and pale blues alike. They were beautiful in a way that a cobra was beautiful- Stunning, but one look and you knew it was deadly.

 

“You didn’t answer my call.” He (and Dean was assuming at this point) accused, a milky membranous inner lid sliding over the expanse of blue to ‘blink.’

 

An incredulous snort punched out of Dean despite knowing he should keep his trap shut. "I’ve been catcalled pretty aggressively before, but that really took the cake.” Why. Why did he always talk before he thought things through!

 

The ‘snake’ tilted his head again, brows scrunching. "You speak in riddles. I am not this ‘cat’ nor did I take this ‘cake.’"

 

God help him. Dean snorted a faintly hysterical laugh. Of fucking course, the snake-monster didn’t know what the hell he was saying, just look at him!

 

“Look, I’m not…here to try and kill you or anything. I just- I had to know what I saw. I had to know I wasn’t batshit.” Dean exhaled a shaking breath, chancing getting his legs under him to at least get to his knees. He doubted he could outrun how fast this thing could- slither? But it made him feel better to have the option of running away.

 

“…Bat…shit?” The being repeated slowly, threatening another bubble of hysteria out of Dean.

“You could not kill me. You are small. Weak.” To prove a point, the tip of his tail darted out and knocked against Dean’s lower back, sending him sprawling. “I do not fear you, Human.”

 

Dean scowled, getting his hands and knees underneath him. He’d face-planted in the dirt a foot or so away from the creature’s main body, and he glared up the length of his torso. “I get that.” He grumbled, balking when a flash of fangs and another hiss replied to his indignance.

 

“Just- just chill- uh, calm down okay? No need to get- Bitey.” Dean eased back a few feet until he could center himself in the circle created by the thing’s long body.

 

“I’m Dean.” Maybe it was the delirium of getting knocked around like a ragdoll, or maybe Dean was trying to find common ground, he didn’t know, but introducing himself felt like the best option he had.

 

The snake creature made another circuit around Dean; eyes narrowed in consideration. “Dean.” He repeated this too, testing it on his tongue.

 

He stopped, bending down a little towards Dean with a stare that bore holes through the human. “Very well, ‘Dean.’ I am-“ He paused, tongue rolling in his mouth as if he was trying to puzzle something out. "Castiel.” There was a slight crispness to the ‘S’ in his name, sharpening the ‘t’ afterward.

 

Dean relaxed a hair too soon. ‘Castiel’ continued, and Dean’s stomach plummeted to the ground.

 

“And you will not be leaving.”

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return to the island only spurred a curiosity in Dean that had no hope of fading. He'd be smarter about it this time (if there was such a thing), but something is looming in the background, a whisper of unease that Dean can't quite figure out.

  
“I’m sor- What?” Dean sat back on the ground, staring in wide-eyed horror up at the creature.  
  
“You cannot leave.” Castiel intoned once more, diction surprisingly clear for a being that was seventy percent scales.  
  
Dirt caked under Dean’s nails as he dragged his fingertips against the ground, loosely balling up his fists in disbelief. “Well, why the fuck not?” He blurted, blanching immediately after. It still hadn’t cemented into his mind not to say the first thing that came to his goddamn brain when he was faced with some kind of friggin medusa-thing!  
  
Castiel’s circling paused, and the tip of his tail slithered too close to Dean’s ankle for his liking. “Isn’t it obvious?” He smirked, yet at Dean’s continued slack-jawed staring he continued. "You would bring more ships. More humans with hooks and ‘guns,’ “This word was clumsy on the creature’s forked tongue as if he had to think on what they were called or how it was pronounced. “You would have me killed.”  
  
Dean chanced getting to his feet again, eyeing the undulating length of Castiel’s tail just a few scant feet from his legs. “Why the hell would I do that? I don’t even know what the shit you are, let alone want to piss you off.” The low rumbling warning in Castiel’s chest immediately put Dean on the defensive, crouching down a little to get his center of gravity lower to the ground in case the snake-thing felt the need to bitch-slap him into next week again.  
  
The creature snorted, drawing closer to Dean with a few slow rolls of his long body. “Humans often speak lies. It’s in your nature. I wouldn’t risk me and mine.” Castiel hissed low, blazing-blue eyes beaming spotlights down on Dean like twin moons.  
  
“Yours and- “Dean clamped his mouth shut. There were more of this thing? As if the idea of one of them wasn’t terrifying enough. The crawling panic gnawing at the back of his spine grew fourfold, and the realization that he could very well die out here resurfaced.  
  
For once, he hoped this was just a dream from tying on one too many beers and passing out on deck. He could deal with Sammy’s lectures and self-righteous ‘I told you so’s’ if it meant he could wake up and be safe in his bunk.  
  
“L-look, honest. I won’t tell anyone. No one would believe me anyway.” Dean insisted, taking a small step back to put a little distance between him and Castiel. “Who the hell is going to believe town-drunk junior?”  
  
Silence stretched between them, the only sound the rustling of trees in the salt-heavy wind. The creature was just staring at him; his head barely tilted with unblinking eyes. A cold sweat beaded on the nape of Dean’s neck, the beating of his heart too loud to his ears.  
There was a moment of irrational amusement when the chirp of a bird snapped him from the accidental staring contest. The birds began chirping again, and that had to count for something- Right?  
  
Something in Castiel’s eyes shifted. The ferocity tempered down to something more profound, darker. If Dean had could juxtapose the look onto someone he knew, someone human, he might have thought the look was bone-deep exhaustion. It settled uncomfortably on his skin, disliking the very-real human expression on a being that could kill him effortlessly if he tried.  
  
“Go then.” Castiel moved fast. Before Dean could draw in a bracing breath, he was knocked down to the ground again, and a strong forearm braced a hard line against his chest, stuttering the breath from his lungs. "Do not waste my leap of faith, human. Make no mistake that I could kill anyone you send to end me. Do not gamble with the lives of your town.”  
  
As fast as he struck, Castiel pushed back from him with a flex of his stomach muscles, the thick trunk of his blue scaled waist moving with a fluid grace no human could ever hope to match. Ash had owned a snake when they were teenagers, and Dean thought the kingsnake had been creepy then. He’d watched the snake eat once, and it had turned his stomach off of snakes from then on.  
  
That little snake had nothing on this thing moving in front of him. Castiel was pure power and muscle, as quick as he was terrifying. Dean had no doubt in his mind that the creature could make good on his threat.  
  
Mechanically, Dean nodded, too afraid of his traitorous tongue to speak. As soon as Castiel’s tail withdrew away from him, opening a path in the long loop of his body, Dean bolted.  
He ran faster than he had any right to over the treacherous terrain. The sensation of something unholy pressing down on him clung to his back, bidding him to run, stumble, and trip down towards the shoreline as fast as his booted feet would take him. The devil was at his back, nipping at his heels.  
  
It wasn’t until he was splashing through the surf and hefting himself onto the Poughkeepsie’s deck that the burst of adrenaline that fueled his flight began to taper down, leaving him shaking and exhausted. He drew up the anchor in record time, slamming the throttle of his little fishing vessel to swing her around in a hard lurch.  
  
The rumble of the engine and the shrill squawk of a seagull overhead settled against his skin, drowning out the goosebumps left in the wake of- Whatever the hell ‘Castiel’ had been. Now that he was off the island, he was tempted to think it was all a waking dream. Hell, he’d take a bad stroke if it meant that Castiel wasn’t real.  
  
The lack of his father’s knife, open slices in his arm, and battered body said otherwise.  
  
His boots stomped over the deck, and he dry-heaved over the railing. Nothing came up, thankfully too late in the day now for his early breakfast to make a reappearance.  
  
Whatever he was leaving on that island, he hoped he had enough sense to stay away from it from now on.  
  
  
The days following Dean’s excursion to the lone island were filled with more research and books than he’d cracked in years. It took some digging and a few creative internet searches, but as far as Dean could tell that thing- ‘Castiel,’ was something called a Naga. How much of the bullshit he pulled up on his browser was true, he didn’t know.  
  
Most of it felt like a pile of crap. Either talking about demons, gods, or a mostly female race that didn’t look at all like Castiel had. None of the research even mentioned whatever the hell nearly made him run his boat into the rocks. It felt oddly mermaid-esque, but nothing about the Naga had looked buxom or flipper-y. Castiel had been about as opposite from the ideal ‘mermaid’ as it could get.  
  
Maybe it was all the research, but the dreams that plagued his sleep kept coming to him as intense as the first.  
  
Dreams of scales slithering against his skin, smooth and warm. Of sharp-nailed trails lighting shivers down his arms, pausing at the exposed, tender flesh of his chest and stomach. Of fangs, bright and gleaming in the dark, dripping with venom. Of a voice as deep as the ocean’s depths, and as fluid as the undulations of the body that housed it.  
  
The dreams were nightmares and perversion wrapped in one. Dean woke on the seventh night in a cold sweat, cursing lowly at the ache pulsing below. The dreams ended randomly, sometimes with whispers of euphoria, and others in sprays of blood. But they all burned his blood hot with terror and excitement alike. Be it by magic or curiosity; Dean was infected with something he had no hope of fighting.  
  
“Fuck!” He threw off his blankets, casting the sodden sheets to the ground to deal with later. For the fourth night in a row, he threw himself in the shower under a cold blast, hissing as the frigid water bit hard and chased away the magma within.  
  
“The hell is wrong with me?” Dean grumbled into the water; forehead pressed to the cool, dark green shower tiles that were as dated as the rest of the old seaside home.  
  
That fucking creature had done something to him, Dean just knew it. But what the hell could he do about it? Castiel had knocked him off his feet with a simple flick of his tail, the last thing he could do was to march back and demand the Naga remove whatever mojo he’d done.  
The realization he had accepted the presence of ‘mojo’ right along with the fact that there was a fairy tale species living on the island tore a delirious chuckle from him, harsh in the quiet of the small ensuite.  
  
He had to go back, even if it was suicide. Dean couldn’t just live with the knowledge something like Castiel was out there and not- Well, he didn’t know what he was going to do about it exactly, but his father had always accused him of doing shit without thinking it through. Why change now?  
  


* * *

  
  
  
John might have thought his eldest was a moron, but Dean thought he could be clever when it suited him. He hadn’t woken up for the morning farmer’s markets since Sam left for school. He couldn’t be bothered to drag his ass out of bed on his rare weekend off just for seasonal jam and eggs. That’s what the damn mini-mart near the pier was for. As long as he had his basic food groups—meat, bread, eggs, and beer—he was okay.   
  
“Well look who is up on a Saturday.” Donna’s heavy Minnesotan accent was amusing outside of the ass-crack of dawn.   
  
“Yeah yeah, gawk at the freak.” Dean offered the blond, bright-eyed woman a grin as he glanced around, “How’s the wife?”   
  
“Well, you’d know if you came around sometime, mister. Jody’ll be around in a bit on her rounds if you want to stick around so she can box your ears.” Donna chuckled, plopping down a fresh layer of ice from her cooler with a soft grunt. “What’re you doing down here so early? Sam finally gave you some good habits? Heard Ms. Larson down the way had some good greens today.”   
  
Dean’s nose curled, “Hell no. I don’t want any of that cat lady’s damn spinach.” He grumbled, “Just- picking up a few things. Man can have some variety.”   
  
Donna’s eyes rolled, “If you say so, Mr. Beer-and-Bacon. Honestly, I could kick you myself for staying so trim. I eat a crouton out of place, and it’s on the Stepper for me.” She sighed, slapping a shapely thigh for emphasis.   
  
“And Jody wouldn’t have it any other way,” Dean smirked fondly. Jody had been like an aunt to him growing up, and it had taken them all by surprise when she’d fallen head over heels for the bubbly woman that had uprooted herself after a messy divorce. Jody had needed Donna’s boundless optimism to help her nurse the ever-open wound of losing her husband and son to a car accident nearly eight years past.    
  
“Say hi for me. I gotta get going. Headin’ out for a bit later.” Dean offered a short wave as he continued down the market stalls, seeking out the smallish freezer truck from one of the local organic farms. There had been a large influx of small-time farmers and entrepreneurs lately, hocking meat, produce, and natural goods with buzzwords Dean hadn’t seen hide nor hair of. He figured for his purpose, getting a grass-fed, no-hormone, no-blah blah mutton leg and some fruit would be worth it. He didn’t know what the hell a Naga ate, but considering what was around the island, Dean figured a denser meat might endear the creature not to get as pissy at him so quickly.   
  
Hauling said mutton leg back to the boat in a cooler wasn’t his ideal Saturday morning, but the sun was nice and bright today and would sour the meat fast if Dean just let it sit out.   
  
Footsteps coming up the dock near the Poughkeepsie tugged his attention from his daily checks. Dean wasn’t used to anyone approaching him without whistling or yelling at him first, which was the local way. Everyone knew everyone around here, for better or worse, but he didn’t recognize the guy walking towards him.   
  
The man was dressed in a nondescript suit, unremarkable in cut and color, but it was his general presence that struck Dean as odd. There wasn’t anything overt about the way the man looked, but the set to his angular face and the general look in his dark eyes instantly set Dean on the defensive.   
  
“Can I help you?” It was gruffer than he’d meant it, but Dean didn’t like the cut of this guy’s jib.   
The man’s eyes swept over the Poughkeepsie with a critical eye, a small smirk tugging at his thin lips. “Don’t mean to interrupt your morning, just doing a check around…Usual stuff.” He paused, peering a little closer at the stem of the ship. “Got a bit of a ding here.” His slimy grin broadened.   
  
Dean frowned, “Uh-huh. I’ll get right on that, who did you say you’re with?”   
  
“I didn’t.” The man’s smile stayed static, “I’m with the Game Commission, just following up on a few things. You haven’t seen anything- off, have you?”   
  
Eels might have taken residence in his gut for how disconcerted the man was making Dean. ‘Off?’ Was he talking about Castiel? How could he be? There was no way possible the guy knew Dean had been to the island.   
  
Shit. Worse than that, maybe this was finally about all the bycatches he’d been snagging lately.   
Resisting the urge to swallow his nerves, Dean shrugged. "Unless you’re talking about Phil sleep-fishin’, haven’t seen anything. Not much happens around here if you haven’t noticed.” Dean bent to check his lines, “If you don’t mind, I’m already behind so-” He gestured vaguely to pilot house.   
  
“’Of course, wouldn’t want to keep you.” The Game Commissioner’s grin turned into more of a sneer, “If you hear anything, just put in a call. Hm?” He turned, meandering down the dock towards a larger vessel.   
  
“Weirdo,” Dean grumbled under his breath, eager to cast off and distance himself from the man as fast as possible. He reminded him of a moray eel.    
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel isn't anything like Dean expected, but then again, he supposed that's a good thing, otherwise, he would have ended up dead.

 

Anchoring his boat somewhere that wouldn’t skewer her, or him, was as big of a pain in the ass as it was last time. Even if there hadn’t been spooky legends (which, admittedly had been pretty right) this island wouldn’t have seen a lot of traffic. Only patience and perseverance aided Dean’s pig-headed desire to return to a place that had an unholy monster that could kill him as easy as a mouse.

 

He floated the cooler behind him as he waded onto shore, grimacing at the treacherous rocks sliding underneath his feet in the sand. Castiel’s hide must be tough to put up with terrain like this regularly. If how easily the dagger had glanced off his scales told Dean anything, it was that he’d have to get creative if Castiel decided to take his return visit as a personal offense. The further he made it to shore, the more he was considering this was possibly suicidal.

 

“Fuck it.” He grumbled, stomping up onto the grassland with a grateful sigh.

 

Dean remembered roughly the direction he’d gone the week before but navigating back to the clearing was still difficult when he had the cooler in his arms.

 

It never occurred to him what he’d do if he got to the clearing and Castiel wasn’t there. He’d just assumed Castiel could know he was on the island like last time and just- be here. There was no sign of the creature, either in the low pit or around the surrounding area.

 

Frowning, Dean adjusted the cooler under one of his arms, and trudged on. Castiel had to be around here somewhere, he didn’t think the Naga was out in the water and not seen Dean’s boat approach.

 

It took another half an hour of roaming around the island, but around the time when he was giving up, he spied a massive form on top a sunny boulder nestled at one corner of the island.

Castiel’s long coils wound around the boulder, scales glimmering like jewels in the sunlight. His head rested lazily on his folded arms, wild dark hair sporting a couple leaves from nearby trees. Castiel’s body dwarfed the boulder that was as big as a Volkswagen, barely any of the deep grey surface seen through the spirals of his long body. He was awe-inspiring in a way that instantly turned Dean’s gut into a mercurial slosh of apprehension and fear.

 

What the everloving fuck had he been  _ thinking _ ?

 

One of Castiel’s bright eyes opened, pupil a narrow almond. There was no surprise in his expression, just a blunt stare that pierced to Dean’s core.

 

“You’ve returned. Why?” Castiel’s voice was as deep and fathomless as it had been last time, skittering up Dean’s arms and raising gooseflesh as it went.

 

“I uh-…Have no idea.” Dean replied lamely, hefting the cooler out in front of him.” I come bearing gifts? Well, food anyway, which is better than a gift if you ask me.” He was rambling but seeing Castiel slowly sit up from the rock and crane his upper body over the side to peer down at Dean had that effect on him.

 

Castiel’s long, dark tongue slide past his full lips, scenting the air with a peculiar little waggle that would have struck Dean as hilarious if it wasn’t so goddamn inhuman.

 

Head tilting, Castiel’s brow furrowed. “Meat? What is it? I have not smelled this before.” His 

demanding tone had an air of curiosity, and the Naga was already unwinding his huge form from the boulder to creep closer.

 

Dean resisted the urge to dance backward the closer Castiel came to him. “Lamb- er, Sheep? Fuck I don’t know how old the damn thing was, but uh, here’s its leg I guess.” He bent to flick open the cooler so Castiel could inspect the paper-wrapped leg and the bundle of fruit nestled in a net bag within.” And some fruit, cause I …didn’t have a fucking clue what a Naga ate.”

 

Castiel’s head tilted a little further, “Naga? Is that what humans call us?” He snorted, bending to drag his index nail down the paper, splitting it to reveal the white-red flesh of the slaughtered sheep. “What sort of creature is- ‘Sheep’?”

 

“Just a kind of farm animal? About this big-“ Dean held his hand flat near his knee, “I guess? Kind poofy if you don’t shave them, use their wool for clothes and stuff- Not that you look like you wear…those.” Dean trailed, realizing he’d just been assuming Castiel was a male creature this entire time considering ‘he’ didn’t have boobs and had a pretty base voice, but Dean couldn’t actually see anything visually that would scream ‘dude’ to him. Notably, no junk. Not that he was looking.

 

Really. It was just a thing he noticed.

 

Dean cleared his throat softly, “Brought it just in case you felt bitey.” He grinned weakly.

 

“Bitey,” Castiel repeated flatly, eyes narrowing a hair. “You are strange, Human.”

 

“Dean.”

 

Castiel stared at him a little longer, hand dipping to grip the ankle joint of the mutton leg and lift it. “Dean.” He repeated, a barely-there smirk on his lips.

 

Dean huffed a small, nervous chuckle, intent on making yet another ill-timed remark, but he never got the chance.

 

Right about the time Dean opened his mouth, so did Castiel. And  _ holy shit. _

 

Castiel’s lips parted and kept going well past where Dean had thought his actual lips had ended. Not only did the line of his lips widened, but his lower jaw looked to disconnect entirely. 

The dip in his strong chin broke underneath the surface of his skin, widening with a sinewy stretch to accommodate the thick length of the mutton leg raised to his mouth.

 

Castiel’s jaws closed around the length of meat easily, swallowing it up in sharp, jerking snaps. It was a bizarre combination of birdlike, crocodilian, and serpentine that had Dean’s hindbrain back to wet itself.

 

“H-holy shit.” Dean planted himself in the dirt before he did something embarrassing like faint.

 

The hard lump of flesh briefly ballooned out Castiel’s throat before sliding down the length of his chest, momentarily shifting his ribcage aside and bulging out his sternum. Dean watched in morbid fascination the trail the hunk of meat made down Castiel’s digestive track. It came to rest low in Castiel’s stomach, a pooch that again would be hilarious if not for how fucking terrifying seeing Castiel eat was.

 

“I like this ‘sheep.’” Castiel announced, licking a trail of blood from the corner of now ‘normal’ lips.

 

Dean laughed thinly, “A-awesome. Glad to hear it, man.”

 

Castiel returned to the cooler, poking and inspecting the bag. “What are these? Fruits?” Dean was surprised Castiel knew what fruit was, but then again Dean still wanted to know how they were even speaking the same language.

 

“Yeah, just oranges and apples. I didn’t know what you ate.” Dean admitted, picking up the bag to pass off one of the oranges to Castiel. “This is an orange.”

 

“Ridiculous name.” Castiel decided, digging one of his claws into the thick rind with a frown.

 

Dean chuckled a little more earnestly, “Kind of one of those ‘Chicken or the egg’ questions, right? What was called an orange first, the color or the- You’re supposed to peel it first!” Dean squawked, reaching out to cover his hand over the orange before Castiel could shove it down his throat after the mutton.

 

Castiel’s brow pulled, a look deathly close to a pout. “You say now.” He grumbled, tearing his claws into the flesh a little more vicious than necessary. Castiel tore the fruit in half, a satisfied grin curling his lips when the bright, juicy flesh was exposed. “I see.”

 

Puffing a small sigh, Dean sat back and took a small bite of an apple. He wasn’t hungry, especially after watching Castiel eat, but he wanted to occupy himself with  _ something _ .

 

Castiel settled closer to the ground, holding the fruit in his upturned palms with a critical eye. First, he sniffed it, with his ‘human’ nose, then he scented it. Only after doing both a handful of times did Castiel finally lower his tongue down and flick the forked tips of his tongue against the orange’s flesh.

 

Castiel wasn’t making any attempt to  _ eat _ the fruit, rather he just kept tonguing the damn thing and lapping the juice. Which- was fucking weird. Dean shifted a little in the dirt, “What are you doing dude? You  _ eat _ the middle bites, not- How long is your tongue anyway?” He’d wondered that since the first moment Castiel scented the air without directly threatening him in the process.

 

“My tongue?” Castiel looked up from the fruit, slurping a trail of orange juice from the length of his tongue. A heartbeat later Castiel lowered the full length of his forked tongue from his lips, easily the length of his entire face fully extended and then some.

 

Dean’s eyes widened a touch, “Oh.” The back portion of Castiel’s tongue was nearly the same bright blue as the majority of his scales, tapering down into a striking black ombre until the very tips were as pitch as night.

 

Castiel returned to his fruit with another quiet look of judgment, burying his tongue in the pulpy mess with renewed interest.

 

Giving up on Castiel eating an orange like a sane person, Dean nibbled at his apple, content to watch and observe for a little while longer.

 

Minutes stretched by, and after the Naga had ‘consumed’ three oranges, Dean couldn’t take the silence any longer. “So…Are you the only one here?”

 

Castiel paused, slowly sucking his tongue back into his mouth with a small rumble of consideration. “Yes.”

 

“I figured, you’re kind of- gigantic,” Dean smirked softly, eyes flicking along the expanse of 

Castiel’s body. Their torsos weren’t that different, comparatively, other than a spattering of scales and a weird ridge that ran against the lower portion of Castiel’s ribcage covered by another line of scales. If Dean had to take a guess, he’d say Castiel wouldn’t be that much shorter than him if he had people legs based on the build of his torso.

 

It was just his lower body that was so distracting. Castiel’s ‘hips’ were wider than his waist, and only a slight taper narrowed down the trunk of his body until it narrowed dramatically towards the end to make up the dexterous tail.

 

“Are most Naga your size?” Dean continued, chucking his apple core off into the bushes.

 

Castiel considered him a moment longer, “We run a gamut, just as your people.” He shrugged, his coils stretching out a little wider to lower his upper body down closer to the grass and Dean.

 

“Are you at the big or little end? Because I gotta admit, imagining anything bigger than you is kind of piss-inducing.”  It was easier to talk with Castiel now that he didn’t look like he’d be trying to squeeze the life out of him.

 

To Dean’s surprise, a small smirking half-grin tugged at Castiel’s lips. “I am…at the larger end of average.” The Naga took his latest orange and tilted it towards his face, powerful hand crushing the rind in his grip to squeeze a rivulet of juice down onto his waiting tongue.

 

Flashes of twilight dreams and the rumble of bass against Dean’s skin flared unbidden in his mind’s eye, and pink flooded his cheeks, forcing his eyes to his boots rather than the snake-creature. “O-oh? That’s about as terrifying as I thought it’d be.” He scrubbed an apple sticky hand down the front of his jacket, grounding himself in the rough touch.” So, are there a lot of Nagas? I’ve never heard of ‘em, but I wasn’t exactly an A-plus student.”

 

The rind dropped to the grass next to the other discarded fruit peels, set aside for later use. 

“There was, long ago.” Castiel’s voice had sobered, losing the faint edge of humor it held seconds before.

 

Dean’s stomach sank, “That- sucks.” He winced, groaning at his inability to articulate even basic empathy.

 

“Sucks? I don’t see how my dying race would ‘suck.’” Castiel’s eyes narrowed, turning his attention back to Dean with a critical eye. “Is that human nonsense?”

 

“Oh shit, yeah it just means, like, it blows- Fuck, I mean that it’s bad. Seriously how the hell are we speaking the same language right now?” Dean had been dying to know since the moment Castiel had spoken to him.

 

Castiel’s tail burrowed in the dirt much like one would dig in with their heel to focus themselves. “It is, how your kind would say- magic? Many creatures have this ability; only a few have lost their Tongues to time, humans being one of them. Long ago your people had the Gift as well, but it was lost.”

 

Dean perked, “Oh, that Sunday-school thing, right? ‘The tower of Babel’?” He was a little proud of himself for even remembering that, considering he’d slept through about eighty-percent of those lectures. After their mother died, John never made Sammy or him go back to church. There just hadn’t been a point anymore.

 

A deep hum rumbled from Castiel’s chest, and the ridges at the Naga’s side briefly flared, twitching in the note. They reminded Dean of a fish’s gills if he tilted his head just right. “I have a faint memory of hearing of this ‘Babel,’ but I do not think humans have remembered it correctly. Your kind’s minds are as fleeting as your lives. Much of your history is largely fabricated nonsense designed to assuage your inability to believe you are not superior.” Castiel answered, a dozy yawn briefly baring his needle-link fangs to the air.

 

“Jesus, you’re just a regular Mr. Rogers of conversation, aren’t you?” Dean snorted, ignoring the incredulous look of confusion Castiel was aiming his way.

  
  


Over the next three hours, Dean hazarded a few more questions, but Castiel left him with more than was answered. An hour after their shared snack Castiel had led him back to the clearing, what Dean assumed was Castiel’s home. He got the impression Castiel wasn’t exactly thrilled with his presence on the island, but the Naga was just as curious about him as Dean was about Castiel. He caught Castiel staring about as often as Dean stared back, both trying to size each other up except that Dean was exceptionally more careful about it than Castiel was. Castiel had no quarrel with poking his tail to Dean’s calf when it suited him or leaning down to peer at 

Dean’s freckles whenever Dean passed too close.

 

It was disconcerting as hell.

 

The sun was getting close to the horizon, and Dean didn’t want to risk trying to guide the boat from the island in the darkness.

 

Castiel stirred from his lounging spot near his firepit, head tilting as he watched Dean gather up his cooler. Briefly, Dean feared Castiel would try to pull what he did last time and say he wasn’t allowed to leave the island, but no such order came.

 

Instead, Castiel leaned his head in his palms, elbows resting in the dirt. “Will you come to my island again? Are your curiosities sated?”  

 

Dean hesitated, glancing down at the small cooler in his hands, chewing the inside of his lip. Was he going to come again? Truthfully, he wanted to. Castiel was fascinating in ways Dean couldn’t begin to summarize. It wasn’t every day you met a dude that was friggin’ half  _ snake _ for fuck’s sake!

 

And he’d never asked Castiel about the dreams.

 

“Why don’t I leave this here? Keeps shit cool, figure you could use it more than I do. Pretty much only use it for beer anyway, and I don’t give a shit if those are cold or not.” He lowered the cooler back to the ground, smirking softly at Castiel’s quirked dark brow. “I’ll be back. Don’t know when be on the boat a lot this week but…I will.” It felt oddly like a promise, but Castiel didn’t look displeased about it.

 

“Goodbye then, for now, Dean.” The Naga’s rough voice speaking his name prickled up his spine and Dean dumbly nodded with a weak handwave before he turned to meander his way back to the beach.

 

Castiel’s voice struck odd chords in him. It had the power to reduce his insides to a chittering puddle of goo or draw goosebumps to his skin. It was as formidable as it was graceful. He’d nearly forgotten about the ‘incident’ once he’d seen Castiel with his own eyes, but as he waded back to his boat the night, he nearly crashed into the rocks churned within.

 

It had to of been Castiel singing to him that night, luring him to crash upon the rocks. Dean had read enough online to figure that ‘Sirens’ and ‘Nagas’ overlapped a little, probably some of that patented humans-fucking-history-up Castiel was talking about. But…why?

 

That would mean Castiel was also responsible for other ships crashing into the island, and countless deaths. What did the Naga get out of it? Why sing people to shore if he was just going to kill them?

 

It occurred to him he was thinking of this like Castiel was human, and one glance at the guy said how wrong that assumption was. Castiel had crammed an entire sheep leg down his throat with ease, and Dean had no doubt that the Naga’s fangs could pierce nearly threw his forearm if Castiel bit fully down. Castiel was a beast, a creature…And maybe killing humans was just in his nature. Like a cat ate mice, or a shark ate fish.

 

Maybe humans were just prey.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who would have thought a creature like Cas would actually be a positive influence, but Dean had to admit, he liked the 'guy'. Lingering questions still remained unsaid, and finally, they surface, upsetting the precarious truce between human and 'monster'.

  
  


There was a chill to the air as he pulled away from the docks. It had been nearly two weeks since Dean had made his last venture to the Island, not for lack of trying. There had been too much work, too many opportunities to make some much-needed mortgage money. Exhaustion pulled at his bones, but he had a day to spare, and as much as he wanted to pass out on the couch watching reruns of Dr. Sexy, he wanted to learn about Castiel more.

 

Sammy had finally stopped asking questions about the ‘sighting’ he’d had. Dean bite down a lot of pride to grumble out that  _ maybe _ Sam had been right, and that he’d watch the day-drinking just to get the kid off his case. He didn’t want Sam knowing about Castiel, even if he couldn’t pin down the ‘why.’ Right now, Castiel was his secret, and, for all he knew, his secret alone. He’d been forced to share damn near everything with Sam since he was born and for once, Dean was going to keep this little nugget close to his chest.

 

The whole threat-of-fangy-death was also a good motivation to keep his lips sealed.

 

The radio blared ‘Back in Black’ as the Poughkeepsie chugged along, the only thing hauled in the cool storage a few pounds of pork shoulder, some hamburger meat, and a watermelon. He’d thought to bring a water-proof sack to carry everything in since he’d left the cooler with Cas (he’d given up trying to say the Naga’s full name in his head a week ago), and he hoped it would be enough to keep the buns from getting soggy while he waded up to shore.

 

Sure, Castiel probably preferred his food raw, but Dean figured why not broaden his tastes a little bit? He’d like the orange well enough, and Dean was going to get hungry for more than fruit if he was planning to spend all day out here. Burgers were easy.

 

Getting the bag of food and the small portable grill to the beast without tripping into the water was a task and a half, but Dean had been sloshing through the surf since he was a toddler.

 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to go stomping around half the island like last time. By now the way to Cas’s ‘camp’ was easy enough for him to remember, and he made it there within fifteen minutes, right around the time he was getting fed up of juggling camp equipment.

 

Dean spotted the Naga in his sandpit, coiled up and half-buried, asleep. He smirked softly, thinking this must be the Naga version of being ‘tucked in’ to bed. When Castiel wasn’t busy hissing or smirking at him, he looked- Pretty damn normal. You know, aside from the snaky bits. Cas didn’t look any older than he did, give or take a few years.

 

Dean hazarded a few steps closer, not wanting to sneak up on a sleeping beast, but too curious to look at Castiel closer since he was asleep to stay away. He’d made it about halfway on careful feet before he spotted the small stretch of deep, reddish purple in the sand underneath Castiel’s left side. Peering closer, he saw an angry looking gash just above what Dean figured was a gill, dangerously close to the scales that protected the vulnerable section of skin.

 

Frowning, Dean turned and began back to the boat.

 

“Dean?” Cas’s voice paused his retreat a moment. The Naga blinked dozily up from the pit, secondary eyelids slowly parting to reveal his pupils and irises.

 

“One sec, be right back!” Dean called over his shoulder and jogged off back to his boat again. One thing was for sure; if he kept up with these visits, Dean would finally lose the bit of lazy fat hugging his gut from too many beers and too many days off binging Netflix and pie.

 

By the time he came back, Castiel had slithered mostly out of his bed and was poking through the bag of food.

 

“Ay, don’t bleed on the food,” Dean smirked, holding up a first-aid kit fetched from the Poughkeepsie’s cabin. “Can I see your side? Looks like something got you good.”

 

Castiel put down the bag with a small pout, casting vaguely accusatory eyes at the human as he pulled the rest of his tail from the ‘bed,’ and moved a little closer to Dean. “I was digging in the seabed, and something cut me. Human refuse no doubt.” He scowled, twisting a little to touch just over the gash. “Your kind pollutes the oceans so much it is hard to avoid.”

 

“Yeah, we suck alright.” Dean shrugged with a small, defeated sigh. What were you going to do? People had been advocating for years, but jack-shit was ever really done about it. Humanity was ten pounds of bullshit crammed into a five-pound bag, and Dean had long given up trying to be optimistic about it. He didn’t have Sam’s go-get-it attitude to fix the world; he was just focused on surviving in it.

 

“Damn that’s pretty deep. Almost caught your uh…gills?” Dean ventured, planting his ass next to Castiel and motioning for the Naga to lower himself down a little.

 

“Yes.” Castiel took a deep inhale and held it, a moment later the ridges on his side opened slightly, purple-pink just past the blue scales, and lined with cartilage. “They’re complimentary to my lungs, not primary.” He explained as if that was supposed to mean something to Dean, but he merely nodded.

 

Dean flicked open the kit and took out a bottle of saline solution to flush the wound out with. “Huh, your blood is purple, that’s kinda-“ He glanced at the Naga as he tipped the bottle to start cleaning the wound. Castiel didn’t look as if he’d knock him away, so Dean focused on just getting this over with. “- Pretty weird. Cool, but weird.”

 

Castiel’s eyes rolled above him, and a small snort briefly flared his gills again. “I know humans bleed red, I don’t know why my kind do not.”

 

“Probably a bunch of science shit my brother would get.” Dean shrugged, biting the tip of his tongue as he worked on threading the needle for stitches. “This looks like it' going to need some needlepoint; you’re not going to try and- eat me or anything if I do this are you?”

 

The Naga didn’t look very enthused at Dean’s question, hunkering down a little lower so Dean could get the best angle. “Not unless you deserve it, and if your needle can pierce my hide.” Castiel smirked.

 

Dean resisted the urge to blow a raspberry at a creature that could very likely swallow him whole if Castiel had half a mind to. “Just be still.” He huffed, reaching out to brace his free hand against Castiel’s ribcage. Castiel’s body tensed, and Dean jerked his hand away. “Shit- what?”

 

“No, it’s….My apologies. I forgot how warm-blooded humans were. It took me by surprise.” Castiel rumbled, squirming slightly as the heat from Dean’s touch disappeared against his skin.

 

“Huh.” Castiel had felt a bit cool to the touch, not lizard cold, but more like he’d sat under the A/C for a while. “So, I can touch?” He cautioned.

 

Castiel hummed a small sound of agreement, and Dean took that as permission to rest his hand back. The skin underneath Dean’s hand warmed while he started stitching the wound up until Castiel felt ‘normal’ to Dean’s touch. The process was slow going, taking three times as long as Dean would have liked, but Castiel hadn’t been joking when he’d second-guessed the strength of the needle. Dean angled the needle just enough, or else he was afraid it would snap under the strain. It wasn’t pretty, and it wouldn’t get him passing any medical exams, but it was good enough. 

 

“Bandaging this thing would be useless if you’re going to hop in the ocean, and I don’t know how you heal, but there it is at least.” Dean shoved the rest of the stuff back into his kit. He’d have to throw everything under the sink with some soap to clear away Castiel’s blood before Benny or Ash could get into the kit and wonder what all the purple stuff was.

 

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel ran a thumb against the small ‘x’s’ on his side. “You brought food?” His attention pulled towards the bag again, and the tip of his tail flicked impatiently.

 

Dean broke into a chortle as he scooted back towards the firepit and where he’d dropped off the bag, chucking the first aid kit near the supplies to carry back later. “You’re in for a treat dude; I brought stuff to make  _ burgers _ .”

 

It was weird. Surreal even, to be sitting out in the middle of the ocean on a camp-grill poking at hamburgers with an antsy Naga hovering over his shoulder, but despite that it was fun. More fun than Dean had in longer than he’d care to admit, and somewhere around watching Cas shove his third burger down his weird mouth, and watching the creature hiss his displeasure at the beer that followed, Dean forgot about the dark thoughts and dreams that had swirled like a looming grey cloud in his mind for the past two weeks.

Dean is starting to get used to being more active on his days off. Sure, he does look extra longingly at his bed when he drags himself up at the asscrack of dawn, but it’s a little easier to get going when he has someone to talk to. Someone that doesn’t know all the Winchester baggage. It’s not like he’s without friends, not really. Jody, Donna, Ash, Benny, and Charlie, but there were just some things he couldn’t do around them. Castiel was…different. In every way.

 

Talking to him the past month was as weird as it was illuminating. Castiel rarely offered up bits about himself other than the immediate day-to-day, but Dean knew how to fill the silences. Castiel rarely understood what Dean was saying, especially when he went on tangents about television or his neighbors, but Castiel didn’t seem to mind either.

 

If Dean were the touchy-feely-psychoanalyzing type, he’d think that Castiel was lonely. Sometimes he’d get this far off look in his eyes when Dean went on about Sam and missing having his brother around, and a heavier silence would stretch between them.

 

Around the fourth visit, Castiel started meeting him near the shore, creeping out of the underbrush or melting out from the shadows in near silence. It scared the shit out of Dean, but he guessed it was better than meandering around the island until he stumbled across the Naga.

He’d saved a couple of fish from his latest catch to take to Castiel, but he wanted a ham sandwich like nobody’s business. A quick stop at the local deli and Dean would head off for the day. Seeing Cas scrunch his nose up at a deli-meat promised to be an amusing afternoon.

 

“…And you haven’t heard or seen anything about the missing vessel?” A chillingly familiar voice crawled up the back of Dean’s neck a few steps from the Deli.

 

He turned, spotting the ‘Game Commissioner’ questioning an old local, a petite, sour-looking blond at his right, passive-aggressively jamming her fingers into her smartphone.

 

“Nope, I haven’t as far as I know. Ships go missing on and off around here. Been like that since I was a lad.” The geriatric shrugged, adjusting his weathered ball cap over his wispy white head as a fresh gust of cool wind blew through town.

 

“And no one finds that the least bit- peculiar?” The woman piped up, her voice deceptively sweet for someone that looked like a frigid bitch.

 

“Well, course, but the sea is fickle, Missy.” Dean could almost admire the level of ‘fuck you’ crammed into one frown when the geezer tried to talk to the woman like she was an infant.

 

“If you hear anything-” The man Dean had spoken to before pulled a card from his pocket and passed it off, “You can call us here. My associate here is Lilith, and I’m Alastair, I trust you can remember that?”

 

“I ain’t that old yet.” The older man groused, shoving the card into his denim jacket with a soft huff.

 

Dean turned into the Deli before ‘Alastair,’ and ‘Lilith’ could spot him. Call it intuition, but he had a sneaking suspicion those two were up to no good. Looks could be deceiving, but those two looked like sharks shoved into ill-fitting human skin, and after spending so much time around a Naga of all things, a human had to be pretty sleazy to make him feel  _ this _ nervous.

 

He wasted little time getting lunch and getting to the Poughkeepsie. Still, thirty minutes from shore, he spotted a ship in the distance that wasn’t usual to be roaming around the immediate waters. It was too new, too sleek. It screamed money while trying to look inconspicuous.

 

Dean eased the throttle forward a little more, murmuring silent apologies to his old girl. The faster he got away from the suspicious boat, the better.

* * *

 

“Jesus Cas, it’s a ham sandwich, not a scorpion. Eat it.” Dean rolled his eyes, chuckling under his breath as he watched Castiel eye the sandwich as if he was waiting for it to bite.

 

“What is this yellow?” Castiel thrust the top half of his sandwich towards Dean’s face, nearly smacking him with it in the process.

 

“Watch it! It’s mustard. It’s ground up flower, I guess. Seeds? I don’t know; it makes shit taste good. Eat it.” Dean chomped another mouthful, regretting it the second Castiel  _ licked _ the sandwich of its layer of mustard and choking him up in the process.

 

Castiel sputtered while Dean coughed through a sharp bark of laughter. Yellow-streaked the Naga’s black and blue tongue, a pure look of disgust twisting up his face. “Humans  _ eat _ this?” His scowl was reaching high scores by the time Castiel scrubbed his tongue free of the offending condiment on his arm.

 

“You should have seen your face!” Dean wheezed, thumping his chest before giving up and downing the rest of his beer. He’d been drinking less lately, but a beer with lunch was just American.

 

“You tricked me.” Castiel accused, reaching to prod Dean’s side with the tip of his tail with such a light touch it barely rocked Dean sideways.

 

Dean peeled the top layer of his sandwich off to show Castiel the half-eaten portion smeared with mustard. “I did not! See? It’s good, but not by itself you weirdo.”

 

Simmering, Castiel’s dubious eyes stayed trained on Dean as he reunited the halves of his sandwich and took a ‘careful’ bite that devoured nearly half of it. Dean had insisted if he was bringing Castiel human food, he needed to  _ taste _ it instead of swallowing everything in one bite. Castiel had normal teeth in there, Dean had seen them, so chewing couldn’t be that strange to him.

 

“It’s…acceptable.” Castiel pronounced after swallowing, reaching to scrub his arm through the sand on the beach to purge the traces of mustard from his skin.

 

Shaking his head, Dean returned to his food, and they finished off their lunch with a companionable silence. Castiel gobbled up his sandwich and the two fish in the timespan it took Dean to chew through his sandwich and a bag of chips.

 

“Saw some weird boats today.” He threw out conversationally.

 

“How is a boat ‘weird’?”

 

“Didn’t recognize it.” Dean shrugged, “Town’s small, you pretty much no everyone’s vessels on the water after a while.” He frowned, recalling a few things that seeing Alastair had surged to the forefront of his mind. “…Hey Cas?”

 

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel poked at Dean’s chip bag, sniffing a salt-and-vinegar chip as carefully as he had the mustard.

 

Looking at Cas now, it was hard to imagine the terror Dean had felt when he first saw the Naga. 

Castiel was still imposing and deadly, yeah, but Dean’s apprehension had lessened somewhere around watching Castiel fist a handful of Oreos in his mouth and puke them up nearly ten minutes later a few weeks ago. But that didn’t change what Castiel was. What he was capable of.

 

“Did you…try and kill me that day? When you were- singing or whatever? Are you crashing ships on purpose?” The dam was broken, and questions he’d been too afraid to ask came pouring out. “Are you causing me to have weird, fucked up dreams?”

 

Castiel dropped the chip to the sand, sea-blue eyes staring at him with a depth that Dean was too afraid to delve into deeply, for fear of getting lost in there. “Yes.” His deep voice rumbled, “I was singing you to the rocks. Yes, I am the one that crashes the ships…and Yes, my residual magic is most likely causing your dreams.”

 

It was like the Naga shifted from an unassuming dork to a waking nightmare in his eyes without even blinking. Dean stared in slack-jawed silence, waiting for Castiel to smirk and say that some of it was a joke. Anything.

 

“ _ The fuck _ ? Why are you doing that? Why are you- why would you try and kill me?” Dean’s voice crept up a few horrified octaves.

 

Castiel’s eyes hardened, and his long body began to curl in around him, building walls. “I saw you, that day. I swam underneath your boat, saw the lives you snared. The agony. You catch things indiscriminately. Take more than you need. Cast offal into the sea. Your lines. Your snares.” He growled low, a faded hurt flaring to the surface. “I sang to you for you to meet the same fate as all others that harm these waters.”

 

A mixture of shame and revulsion reddened Dean’s complexion, jaw set in a hard line. “Oh, so you’re fucking judge, jury, and executioner then? Like you don’t hurt things by fucking  _ killing _ ?”

Castiel’s shoulders squared, and his tail gave a menacing flick, the slow, agitated slide of his coils grinding against each other setting Dean on edge. “ _ Yes _ . Humans have caused irreparable damage to the world. Killed species and dared called them myth! My species nears extinction! I will sing the death of any ship I please!” He hissed, managing to keep his fangs sheathed, but just barely.

 

Dean stood with a hard puff flaring his nostrils, “Fuck you.” He spat. It wasn’t the most elegant or original comeback, but it was enough to get his feelings across so that he could storm down the beach to the shore, and to the Poughkeepsie. Castiel had shown him a safe mooring area after his third visit, which made it a little easier to get to and fro, but now it just felt like a lie.

 

If Castiel hated him so damn much, why hadn’t he eaten him the moment Castiel had him on the ground in the middle of his clearing?

 

By the time he hefted himself onto the deck, and stole a glance back at the beach, Castiel was gone, most likely into the cover of the trees. A small part of him feared Castiel was in the water, just below, waiting until Dean got into deep enough waters to sing to him again. To finish what he started.

 

But the terrible, beautiful song never came. Not until he laid down to sleep, anger burning in the pit of his stomach, and music and shadows filling his dreams.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was madness that made him go back to the island the first time and sentiment that drives him back now. He can't just abandon Castiel so easily when he thinks the Naga might be in danger, even if he's still angry.

 

Cold wind danced over the frothing waves, skirting up the Poughkeepsie and chilling Dean to his core. He’d left his jacket in his Impala and sheer laziness prevented him from walking to the parking lot to fetch it. Even he had to call uncle at some point, and right around the time when he started snuffling and shivering he sighed and threw down the rigging he’d spent the past half hour untangling.

 

Snug in his extra layer under his water-proof one, he jogged back towards the dock, side-eyeing the dark boat moored to his left. Dean hadn’t seen the dark boat at the docks yet, and its presence among the fishing vessels was about as noticeable as a purebred stallion among mules.

 

Movement on the boat’s deck confirmed his suspicion. Alastair.

 

He frowned, ducking down so the man wouldn’t spot Dean and press him for questions again. So far, he’d managed to keep out of Alastair’s and Lilith’s crosshairs, but Dean wanted to err on the side of caution, for once.

 

“It has to be around here somewhere,” Lilith grumbled as she stepped up from the cabin after Alastair, busy slinging her long blond hair up into a hightail.

 

“Obviously. Has the other one broken?” Alastair was having trouble lighting his cigarette, cussing under his break until the lighter flared to life.

 

Lilith walked close to the edge Dean had hidden behind, and Dean eased his crouch down further. “No. But Meg has never been all that  _ motivated. _ You baby her.”

 

“Did I ask your fucking opinion?”

 

Silence hung heavy for a moment, “We’ll just have to go farther out.”

 

Dean heard Alastair pace around the deck in a wide circle, “They’re never this far away from another.”

 

“We’ve looked all along the coast. Unless the one in Alaska was a freak, there  _ is _ more.”

Dean swallowed the hard lump that steadily solidified in his throat. They had to be talking about finding Cas.

 

He eased back from the boat as slowly and carefully as his clunky boots would allow, thanking a god he didn’t believe in that both the creeper’s backs were turned towards town instead of the docks.

 

His boat was three sections over, obscured from Alastair’s by a far larger fishing vessel, ‘Colette.’ The curly man that owned her was decent enough but wasn’t exactly the type Dean would walk up to and start a chat with. Dean had spoken to Cain Mullen all of twice, and one was to bum a cigarette off him, and the other was the remark on how pristine he kept the Collete.

 

“Best watch out, “ The deep and faintly roguish voice speaking down from above nearly sent Dean into the stratosphere. He looked up, seeing Cain’s salt-and-pepper topped head directed in his direction. Cain leaned over his ship’s railing, cigarette perched on his lips. “Them black-coats over there keep casting off soon.” Cain tipped his head faintly towards Alastair’s boat.

 

Dean hesitated, glancing around. “How- do you know that? You talk to them?”

 

“Been watching. Don’t like the look of ‘em.” Cain exhaled a plume of rich tobacco smoke. He spent a pretty penny on his smokes. John had rolled his eyes at the man the first moment Cain had rolled into town, but then again, John liked to think everyone thought they were better than him.

 

“Oh,” Dean glanced towards the Poughkeepsie, then back up at Cain. “Why watch out?”

 

It felt like being under a spotlight in the middle of an overcast day when Cain stared. The old salt finished off his cigarette, bending to snuff out the tip on the edge of his boot. “Think you know why.” Cain shrugged, depositing the cigarette butt in an unseen ashtray from Dean’s vantage point.

 

Before Dean got the chance to respond Cain turned and headed back to his wheelhouse, the steady plunk of his boots as ominous as his cryptic answer.

 

“Fuck, is everyone trying to be creepy as shit today?” Dean fumed, hurrying up to his boat to-

 

To what? Warn Cas?

 

Why the hell was he going to do that? He’d just panicked the moment he knew Alastair was after the Naga, but he’d forgotten why he hadn’t been back in a week and a half.

 

Castiel was a monster. There was no denying that. The Naga had killed people from the town, and then some, numbers Dean wasn’t even sure of. He didn’t know a Naga’s lifespan, but if the local legends were anything to go off of, he had to be creeping up on sixty. A hopeful part of Dean thought that maybe one of his parents had been on the island before him.

 

But… Cas was also something else. He was a ‘person’ that liked to sit still for hours just to see if a butterfly would perch on flowers laid out on his tail. Cas’s favorite junk food was as weird as he was- Honestly, who the hell liked  _ circus peanuts _ ? And Cas held a reverence for the life of his island that burned as bright as any bleeding-heart environmentalist and then some.

 

And yeah, Humans were garbage. Dean knew that. There were a lot of good ones, but the bad ones tended to be loud and proud about it. Dean knew the numbers; he knew the statistics. Sam told him every chance he got how Dean could ‘go-green’ and streamline the Poughkeepsie. Things were bad, and humans showed no sign of slowing down. The planet was going down with them.

 

Could Dean really accept that justification though? Maybe not out of a human, but from…something else?

 

He sighed, leaning heavily against the wall of the wheel-house. Even if he couldn’t stomach the idea of Castiel killing fishermen, that didn’t mean he was willing to let those slimy assholes get their hands on him for god knows what.

It took forty-five minutes for Dean to realize that Castiel was intentionally dodging him.

 

“Goddammit, Cas! Come out!” He snapped into the forest, startling a bird from an overhead tree. “This is serious!”

 

He turned a slow circle, willing the Naga to melt out from the shadows like he normally would. Another five minutes ticked by with him yelling, huffing, and finally roosting against a tree trunk to sulk until Castiel stopped being a brat.

 

“I don’t see why I should.” Castiel’s deep, rumbling voice sounded like it could be coming from anywhere. Dean’s hindbrain squirmed, trying to convince himself that Castiel wouldn’t lurch out and end him after all this time. He hoped.

 

“Because some people might be after you, and they might have…they might have got someone you know.” Dean sighed, slumping against the tree.

 

Castiel eased out from the surrounding trees, dark brows furrowed. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

 

“There have been some weirdos hanging around town for a while. I figured they were doing illegal shit so I didn’t mention it but- I overheard them today. They’re out looking for something, and I’d bet money it’s you. They said they caught something up in Alaska-” His lips sealed as devastation bloomed over Castiel’s face. It was a look Dean had never wanted to see on anyone’s, even if Castiel was firmly in the ‘monster’ territory for him.

 

“Alaska?” Castiel echoed, crumpling down into a loose coil. “Anna...” He groaned, clawed fingers scratching back through his dark, disheveled hair. “They’ve caught Anna.”

 

Dean eased a little closer, reaching to offer a gentle pat against one of Castiel’s loops. “Who’s Anna?”

 

“My nestmate...Sister, in your language.” The broken tone of the Naga made him seem younger, more vulnerable than the gut-liquefying creature that Dean originally met. “My people- we usually populate an area in two or three, but not Anna and I. We chose islands by ourselves for our own reasons.”

 

Castiel drooped so far down his stomach dragged the dirt, “Now I wish she would have come here with me.” His voice was so small it broke something in Dean’s chest.

 

“You couldn’t have known some doucheholes were going to come in and act like your zoo exhibits or something. What would they even want you for?” Dean plopped his butt down in the dirt, hip lined up to offer a bloom of warmth against Castiel’s outer coil.

 

Leaning up from the ground, Castiel tugged his upper half higher onto his thick middle towards Dean. “Humans have always hunted creatures for their own gain. Our voices, our bodies, they’re a vast well of magic humans can harness for…nefarious means.” He murmured, eyes flicking towards Dean. Waiting.

 

“Oh. That’s, really shitty.” It wasn’t his best answer, but it passed whatever unspoken test Castiel 

had weighed against Dean, and the Naga relaxed a touch.

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Well. What are we going to do?” Dean was confident the black boat would have a hard time even finding the island, and he’d anchored his boat to the far north where Castiel had told him, hidden by an outcrop of tall jutting rocks, but it didn’t ease the quiet anxiety in Dean’s stomach. If he left, he wouldn’t know if Castiel was in trouble, but if he stayed, he ran the risk of someone spotting his boat if they got too close.

 

“What if-” Dean’s voice stalled when he turned back to Castiel, meeting the creature’s unblinking eyes. “Wh-what?”

 

“Why do you care, Dean?” It wasn’t an accusation, but a question born of genuine curiosity. 

 

A heartbeat went by. Two. Four. A minute trickled by before Dean hissed out a low breath through clenched teeth.”Shit-, I don’t know okay? You’re…you’re a freaking snake-thing and definitely not human. And do I have a problem with you Black-widowing people with a pretty song? Bet your ass- uh, fuck you know what I mean. But, you’re still…a person.” Dean sucked in a deep breath, digging his heels into the dirt and jumping back to his feet.

 

“And I like you a hell of a lot better than I like Alastair and his lackey. They’re shady as hell, and I figure nothing they’re part of could be a good thing. So I’m going to get my backpack from the boat, and the sandwiches I packed, and we’re going to park our asses out here until I’m sure those assholes aren’t going to come snake-wrangle you.”

 

Castiel was staring again, the weight of his eyes prickling up Dean’s spine. “Thank you, Dean.” The air felt a little too warm and stifling under the sincerity in Castiel’s voice.

 

“N-no problem man, I’m going to- I’ll be right back. Just, be in the clearing.” Dean ducked his head into the collar of his jacket and scurried off before he could reflect on the frantic flutter in his stomach. Must have been the leftover tacos he’d scarfed down for breakfast.

“Sh-shit it’s cold,” Dean grumbled, staring ruefully at the banked fire. It was agreed that having a fire going wasn’t the best idea when they were trying to stealth, but two hours into the sun setting Dean was regretting it. It was brisk in the sunlight, but it had been bearable especially when he was moving around. The bite of the September wind through the trees on the island was harsh, even through Dean’s layers.

 

“I was under the impression  _ I _ was the cool-blooded one,” Castiel smirked softly, shifting a little deeper into the sandpit.

 

“Stop wiggling,” Dean grunted, swaying back and forth from where his back was leaned up against Castiel’s larger body. “How are you not freezing your scales off?”

 

Castiel peered an eye open, a vague look of irritation housed within the oceanic hues. “I’m not completely like a reptile, Dean. I’m fully capable of regulating my body’s temperatures to a degree.”

 

The explanation didn’t lessen Dean’s pout, but he at least shut his mouth. Even if he wasn’t used to going to bed so early, Castiel rose and bedded down with the sun, and it was already well past his bedtime.

 

Not that Dean couldn’t do with catching up on a few night’s sleep. The nightmares had tapered off slightly, but there were still veins to the dreams that Dean wanted to avoid strolling down again. He’s sleeping habits had been chaotic at best, and nonexistent at worst since meeting Castiel.

 

Eventually, sleep took him.

 

_ He’d grown used to the sensation of scales sliding against his bare flesh.  The whisper they brought with them. The fire and ice. He quaked, gasping into the darkness with outstretched arms as a long, wet tongue slid up the length of his thigh. Close. So close. _

 

_ A flash of pale and deep blue. Droplets of water dripping down onto his chest from the sodden fringe of dark hair hovering over his exposed stomach. Instead of pain, blood, and agony, there was only the slide of a forked tongue. _

 

_ He peered into the darkness, barely conscious of the crescendo of the haunting song that hovered within the ether. There was no formless face below him, no creature rimmed in shadow. _

_ Only the burning eyes illuminating a face he knew all too well. _

 

_ Castiel smiled, fangs gleaming stark against the flushed pink of his lips. _

 

Dean woke with a start, the phantom sensation of needles hovering low on his abdomen. He sat up, or would have, had something not been holding him down. “What the-?” He groped his hands out, only to be met with scales. The threads of dawn crept into the sky, warming to cornflower.

 

Castiel had loosely wrapped himself around Dean’s body sometime in the night, cocooning the chilled human in a fortress of faintly balmy muscle. It was surprising how much body heat the normally cool Naga possessed when sleeping, just enough to seep into Dean’s bones, bolstering his internal thermometer to a comfortable degree.

 

Dean relaxed into the hold of Castiel’s body, quietly marveling the ease in which he did so. If Castiel had half a mind, he could easily crush Dean within his coils before Dean could even begin to claw his way out. Instead, Castiel was acting like a glorified blanket of all things.

 

Dean tilted his head back, looking at where Castiel had situated his main body behind him to where Dean was resting his head against the faintly scaled planes of Cas’s abdomen. Castiel was laying on his layers, right arm draped near Dean’s shoulder, and the other bent to cradle his head.

 

The situation had all the hallmarks of being absolutely terrifying, but Dean could only faintly grin at how serene Castiel looked while dead to the world. For a creature that could sing ships to their doom, Castiel looked like a puppy once he was asleep. The furrow to his brow smoothed out, and the ever-present frown tugging at his lips smoothed into the barest of smiles. 

 

Dean’s eyes closed, and he drifted, content to listen to the chirp of waking birds as the sun made its languid ascent.

 

The sun began to creep over them, touching Castiel first, before sweeping down from the tips of Dean’s hair and down his forehead. He sighed, stretching to meet the sun. He hadn’t woken to the dawn like this in- Hell, he couldn’t remember. Not since he was a teen at least.

 

Castiel shifted behind him, a low rumble vibrating from his chest and down the length of his body as he woke.

 

Dean didn’t even try to get up, as the way Castiel had himself coiled made it impossible for Dean to extract himself with scraping Cas’s scales the wrong way or stepping on him. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but this was more comfortable than he expected. The sand was soft and warm underneath them, Castiel’s muscular body yielding just enough, and the kiss of the sun- It was bizarre, that was for sure, but nice.

 

Possibly  _ too _ nice.

 

“Shit,” He whispered, reaching down to tug his jacket over his crotch. His libido was always on a hair-trigger, and the combination of his ever-present dreams and the serene pleasure of the sun, and…well a few other things he wasn’t going to analyze had tipped him over the edge. The incessant press into his jeans wasn’t exactly the wake up he’d been looking forward to.

 

Normally he would kick off his blanket, tug down his shorts, and get the morning kicked off with a bang, but that wasn’t an option in the middle of the ocean surrounded by a freakin’ Naga.

Internally groaning, he shifted a little more, willing his dick to behave just this once.

 

The flash of blue and black by his hair startled an embarrassing squawk out of him. Castiel scented the air, blinking sleep from his eyes with a lethargic stretch. Dean watched as Castiel’s secondary lids peeled back and the focus return to his eyes, pupils instantly finding their way to the human rooted in his coils.

 

“Um, Mornin’?” Dean leaned a little back as Castiel scented the air once more, turning his torso to crane after.

 

“You smell different.” Castiel’s voice was deep to start with, but his morning voice? Dean tensed, hands tightening around his fisted jacket.

 

Dean managed not to squirm, but just barely. “I just woke up dude, ever heard of morning breath?” He snorted, not meeting Castiel’s probing eyes.

 

“No.” Goddammit, Dean wished Castiel would stop doing that tongue-flicky thing. Castiel crept closer until there was no escaping the wall of his scales. “It’s arousal.” He declared, as if that wasn’t the worst thing he could possibly say when they were so damn close.

 

Dean squeaked an exhale, “F-fuck man, It’s just morning wood.” He insisted, “It’ll go away.”

Castiel’s head tilted, unabashedly staring down where Dean held his hands around the hem of his jacket. “Humans have their genitals on the outside. Isn’t that….uncomfortable?” The Naga looked genuinely concerned, even if he was still staring boldly right at Dean's lap.

 

“Compared to?” Dean huffed indignantly, “Not like dudes have a lot of options. Actually, are you a dude? I mean…Cause-” Dean spared one hand to gesture vaguely at Castiel’s body.

 

“Yes Dean, I’m a male.” Castiel rolled his eyes, and he turned to ‘sit’ back against his middle coil, baring his stomach and lower body to Dean’s view. “My reproductive organs are housed here.” Castiel touched the top of a barely-there slit where Dean would approximate his junk would be if he were human. Dean first thought the vertical lines of slightly askew scales had just been a birthmark, but now that he peered closer, he could see the softer scales were merely just protecting a line a finger-and-a-half in length in Castiel’s body.

 

Now Dean was staring. Castiel had just bared himself so casually, as if this wasn’t the equivalent of ‘I’ll show you mind if you show me yours,’ except the Greek monster edition.

 

He’d blame temporary insanity if anyone asked, but a second later his hand was reaching out. His index and forefinger fell over the vent, curiously touching over it to feel the weaker, more pliable scales that protected Castiel.

 

Above him, Castiel gasped, a faint strawberry blush filled the skin just under the semi-transparent scales.

 

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to..” Dean jerked his hand a few inches away, searching for any sign that Castiel would reach out and swipe at him with his claws.

 

Castiel swallowed, a ripple pulsing down from the line of scales on his hips and down the length of his body. “No, it’s…it’s okay. Your hands are just, very warm. It surprised me.” His almond-shaped pupils dilated a touch, widening to ovals.

 

“Really?” Dean’s hand drifted back down, eyes trained on Cas’. When his hand came to rest on the vent, Castiel’s chest hitched. Maybe they were still in one of the dreams, but it was too bright, too quiet to be blamed on the madness of the night.

 

Dean’s thumb slid down the line of barely-there scales, and the blush pink darkened to rose gold. Cas was watching him with wide eyes, pupils fully blown.

 

“Can I?” Dean’s breath sounded feathery to his ears, but there was no going back now. 

 

Castiel sharply nodded, a smaller ripple undulating down the line of his body. “Tell me if I do something wrong.” He was flying blind here, but it wasn’t enough to make him keep his hands to himself.

 

His index finger slid down the line, pausing at the lower edge, feeling the split curiously. Cautiously, both hands came to rest on either side of Castiel’s vent, and he gently pulled his thumb against Castiel’s skin, widening the slit barely. Another rush of color darkened the soft skin, nearly the same plum of Castiel’s blood.

 

Castiel huffed a soft breath, the muscles of his stomach clenching as he tried to keep his hands still at his sides. His cheeks flushed the more Dean’s hands lingered on him, a creeping blush that threatened to spread down his neck and ears.

 

Emboldened by Castiel’s reaction, Dean hazarded edging his index finger inside. The moment the pad of his finger slide into the warm, faintly dewy folds of Castiel’s vent the Naga’s chest stalled with a fluttering pant.

 

Truthfully, Dean wasn’t sure what he’d expected doing this, but the syrupy cling of Castiel’s walls was a surprise and a half. If Castiel hadn’t insisted he was a male in his species, Dean would have thought the opposite from just this. Course, maybe Naga males were configured differently than what Dean was thinking.

 

His middle finger joined alongside his index, delving a little deeper to slide against the clinging hold of Castiel’s opening. Every new movement punched a quiet hiss from above, close to a whimper.

 

The deeper he dared, the more he touched, the tackier his fingers became, the wet sound of him stirring up Castiel’s insides filling the early morning air.

 

Two firm bumps brushed against Dean’s fingers once he’d sank them fully within, and a hard ripple abruptly spasmed down Castiel’s body. “Dean!”

 

The bumps pushed up against Dean’s touch, and the strong walls of Castiel’s vent contracted, pushing up the forms until they forced Dean to withdraw a little. The more he teased the rising forms with his fingertips, the more desperate Castiel breathed.

 

Dean parted from Castiel’s body with a thick string of milky fluid trailing from the ends of his fingertips.

 

“Holy shit,” Dean watched as two deep pink lengths emerged from Castiel’s sheath, flushed dark at the tapered blunt tips. Part of him wanted to chuckle at the sheer surprise of Castiel having  _ two _ dicks, but the other, more preoccupied part of him could only stare at the little shifts of desperation that undulated down Castiel’s body the longer he was exposed to the air.

 

He turned fully to get his knees under him, facing towards Castiel’s waist so he could reach out and feel out the shape of Cas against his hands. There were bumps nestled down the first handful of inches on the shafts, not enough to be grating, but enough that it sent a hard jolt down south where Dean was tenting his jeans. Maybe it was perverse as hell out of him, but he could only imagine what texture like that felt where it counted.

 

His hands fisted down both lengths, satisfied to see Castiel’s eyelids flutter and the Naga momentarily collapse back on his coils. Castiel pushed his ‘hips’ up against Dean’s hands, sliding the thick lengths of himself through Dean’s slicked hands.

 

Curiously, Dean skirted his right hand down to the base of the twin shafts, probing against the slit to feel the flushed inverted skin that closed off the rest of Castiel’s insides while he was fully erect. Castiel gasped anew, hips stuttering into the touch. A fat drop of viscous dew pooled at each ruddy tip, sliding down to pool against Dean’s wrapped fingers.

 

A pressure pressing up against Dean’s jeans startled him from his awe, glancing down to see Castiel pull meaningfully at his waistband.

 

“H-hold on, “ Dean parted from Castiel long enough to fumble at his zipper with slippery fingers. When he was finally able to meet the air, he groaned in sheer relief.

 

Castiel’s touch found him a moment later. Seeing Castiel’s claws get anywhere near his privates skipped his heart a little, but Cas was careful to keep the tips of his fingers away from Dean’s prone skin. The strong grip enveloping him sagged him forward, grinding his hips out with a slow groan at finally getting some friction.

 

Blindly, he reached to grasp Castiel again, thumbing over his slits to draw out Castiel’s voice to match his own growing desperation. Dean had already been painfully hard from just exploring new territory here; it wouldn’t take much like this to send him over the edge.

 

The next time Dean rocked his hips out, the tip of himself dragged over Castiel’s fine scales, and he momentarily forgot how to breathe. “Fuck!” He ground out, wiggling a little to drag himself back over against Castiel once again.

 

It took them both by surprise when Castiel came. The Naga’s body tensed, and he cried out a sharp note that sank into Dean’s core, stalling out his brain in time with Castiel.

 

Dean spilled over Castiel’s hand and claws moments after Castiel soaked him down to the wrists with both his cocks, impressive in all aspects.

 

“Jesusfuckingchristonacracker.” Dean went slack over Castiel, leaning heavily against the other’s stronger body until the stars cleared from his eyes and his heart quit trying to leap out through his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d came that intensely.

 

Dimly, he was aware of Castiel tightening his hold until Dean had a hard time wiggling, but it shied away from being tight or uncomfortable.

 

He managed a thin chuckle, hands sliding a mess along Castiel’s scaled skin as he half sat up to peer over at Castiel flopped over on himself. “..,Are you cuddler, Cas?” He teased breathlessly.

 

Castiel mumbled something, but all Dean caught was ‘warm.’

  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastair finally finds Castiel and things come to a head in a way that not only puts the Naga in mortal danger, but Dean as well.

 

It was inching closer to midday by the time Dean got to the shoreline. His footsteps stalled before the surf, and he turned back, glancing at Castiel with a growing frown.

 

“I don’t know man- I can hang around.” His ‘hackles’ hadn’t settled all morning. Dean just  _ felt _ something in the air. His family always possessed a good sense for things. Maybe it was just paranoia after his mother died, but the hyper-alert sensation had saved his bacon on numerous occasions.

 

Castiel’s tail reached out to gently prod Dean’s hips. “I’ll be fine Dean. You have your home. Your life doesn’t have to stop for me. I’ve been on this island longer than you have been alive.” Which was trippy for Dean to think about, but that was neither here nor there right now.

 

“Fine.” Dean sighed, but his feet didn’t move. Since the morning, Dean wasn’t sure how to behave around Castiel now. What was alright. Something had shifted between them, but Dean couldn’t hazard to guess what.

 

“Be safe Cas, don’t get ganked.” The water was bitterly cold even through his boots, and Dean hurried to the Poughkeepsie as fast as his heavy clothes would allow.

 

He didn’t want to leave Castiel behind, but what else could he do? Those asshats had been hanging around town for weeks and showed no sign of leaving. All Dean could hope was that they would give up and ship out before they came across Castiel’s Island. It wasn’t like he could stay camped out there, or even bring Castiel back with him. There was nothing else to be done but keep on business as usual.

 

Dean leaned against the steering wheel, taking in the sounds of the ocean lapping against the boat as he chugged along. He nibbled at a pear, smirking down at the fruit. He’d been eating more fruits and vegetables just as a byproduct of bringing Castiel different foods to try. The ones Castiel didn’t like he’d end up eating, because money didn’t grow on trees. Thought, he had more wiggle room lately just from the lack of booze. Those weeks he’d been going between working and Cas had cut down his intake dramatically. As much as he’d like to kick back with a beer or four on the island, he hadn’t been stupid enough to get off his ass in front of a being that could very well eat him alive. Castiel was his friend at this point, but before this morning, Dean hadn’t been all that sure where he stood in terms of ‘trust.’

  
  


Who knew it took a Naga to make him clean up a little.

 

Dean smirked into his last bite, walking out on deck to chuck the remains into the ocean for a fish to finish. The sound of a cleaner, faster motor approaching pulled his mind from wandering. Brows furrowed, he leaned over the railing to see a sleek black ship approaching rapidly. It took less than ten seconds for it to pass him, and the person standing out on the deck chilled his blood to ice. Alastair.

 

“Shit!” Dean cussed, pushing up from the rail as Alastair held up a hand to wave patronizingly as he passed. The fucker knew. Somehow, he knew.

 

Getting the Poughkeepsie around and throwing her into high gear took an eternity when Dean’s heart was thundering in his chest. He’d known to keep his ass on the island! He didn’t know what the hell he would have done if those assholes showed up while he was there with Cas, but at least he wouldn’t be playing catch up to a fighter jet in his damn biplane!

 

The black boat was moored awkwardly. Lilith wasn’t a trained navigator, that was for damn sure, but she’d kept from running the boat up on the rocks- unfortunately.

 

Dean swung around to ‘his’ anchoring spot higher up the island, praying that where the two had dropped anchor would prevent them from finding Castiel so easily. If Cas was at his home, then the Naga-hunters would have to traverse three-quarters of the island to get to the dense area of trees that gave way to the hill and the camp. Maybe that could buy him enough time to get there.

 

He paused leaving the wheelhouse to snag his scaling knife, tucking it in a cloth and storing it in the folds of his jacket.

 

He made it through the small path Castiel showed him before he heard a sharp, piercing note that sent the birds scattering on frantic wings. Dean’s step stumbled, right knee hitting the ground hard enough to jar his teeth. The cry had momentarily seized up his body, but as quickly as it debilitated, it cut off just as sharply.

 

Ignoring the splotch of blood leaking into his pants from his scraped knee, he lurched to his feet and took off full tilt. That sound could have only been one thing, and for Castiel to cut off like that. Dean feared the worse.

 

Dean broke into the clearing, and immediately he could see Castiel slumped on the ground, head lolling drunkenly. The Naga’s jaws were wide, baring his dripping fangs menacingly, but the intimidation of it was dulled by the lethargic movement of his body. A fat metal dart stuck out from Castiel’s waist, dripping a lazy trail of purple-red blood down the scales of his ‘hip.’

 

Alastair chuckled, holding up the tranquilizer gun with a wiggle. “See there? Told you what would happen there you ugly motherfu-” As delighted in his gloating as he was, it wasn’t enough for Dean to rush him unaware. Alastair swiveled, leveling the gun at Dean with a hard sneer.

 

“Hold it there boy,” Alastair growled, but Dean took another step closer. If it was a tranq gun, Dean figured he had a few seconds to bury his knife somewhere in Alastair before he passed out. “Don’t try it. These darts are enough to drop an elephant twice over. It’d likely stop your heart kid; you really want to die for this monster?”

 

Dean hesitated. Castiel was out of it, but he still looked conscious. His coils moved slow, swiping like an agitated cat, grinding up the dirt below him into a grove. His mouth opened and closed slowly, but he looked strong enough to do some damage if something got close to him.

 

Swallowing, Dean nodded. “What do you want with Cas?” He side-stepped, not inching forward, but sideways. Alastair’s hand jerked a little on the tranquilizer gun, but not enough to endear Dean to be stationary.

 

“ _ Cas _ ? Are you serious?” Alastair laughed harshly, “Hmmm, get seduced by a monster kid? Wouldn’t blame you, better men than you have met their end by these fuckers.” The man was tracking Dean’s movements, but to him, it only looked like Dean was walking away from the scene towards the sandpit, opposite of the direction of Castiel. “Then I don’t have to tell you what these  _ things _ are capable of.”

 

Dean kept his movements slow, only daring a half step at a time, but Alastair was turning with him, whether the man knew it or not. “How did you even find him?”

 

Alastair snorted, brow quirking. “You almost snuck by us, I’ll admit. You’re not as sneaky as you  look, pretty-boy. Wasn’t hard to see your habits had changed, and the tracking device sure helped.” He snickered, flashing his jagged, nearly fangy grin that sent a shiver down Dean’s back. “Count yourself lucky, that face of yours probably saved you from a watery grave like all the other saps at the bottom out there.”

 

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know him." Dean snapped, a bubble of anger rising in him vicious enough to momentarily veer him from his plan.

 

Alastair just kept  _ snickering _ at him.” Defensive! He must have spelled you good. If he has half the song of the bitch we snagged off Alaska had I’m surprised your brain isn’t pudding.”

 

Dean saw Castiel’s eyes widen, and Dean took another step to the side. Alastair was almost fully turned on Castiel now, too trusting that the tranquilizer was keeping Castiel down.

 

His eyes flicked around the clearing, “So where’s your lackey?”

 

Alastair’s grin simmered dangerously, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

 

Damn. There was no telling where Lilith could be, but hopefully, her ass was at least all the way back on the boat. 

 

“The hell do you do with them? Why?” Dean had to know; he had to make sure that Alastair and Lilith were the monsters here. That he hadn’t been a fool.

 

“Why? Come on. You can’t be that stupid. Why do you filch taxes? Why does a lawyer drag his ass? Why do doctors invent problems?  _ Money _ .” Alastair rolled his eyes, momentarily lowering the tranquilizer gun. Dean was too far away from him at this point for Alastair to think him an immediate threat. “These fuckers have more magic in their blood than you can imagine, pretty-boy. Life is in their veins, and rich fucks will pay a lot of cash to get it.”

 

Dean’s stomach churned. Castiel killed people, but in a way, it was him trying to better the planet. There was nothing even vaguely altruistic about what Alastair was doing.  He was just another greedy human trying to make a buck off the misfortune of others, just to benefit even bigger assholes in the end.

 

It happened before Dean could process it, let alone Alastair. One moment Alastair was laughing at Dean’s paled horror, and the next Castiel was rising behind him, jaws flashing impossibly wide.

 

Castiel’s fangs came down in the groove of Alastair’s left shoulder, plunging deep into the meat with the sickening squelch of flesh and the crunch of bone. Alastair’s voice rose into a shrill shout, inhumane in its pain and desperation until Castiel’s left arm locked around his throat and squeezed. Alastair’s breath cut off with a dull croak, and Castiel was dragging him down onto the ground, jaws digging deeper and deeper, pouring more venom into the wound until Alastair’s eyes fluttered and the desperation jerking of his body stilled.

 

“H-holy shit, Cas-” Dean stepped forward, but he didn’t make two steps before Castiel pulled off Alastair with a shout.

 

The metallic ‘whump’ of a dart leaving the gun came the same time as pain blossomed in his back. The dart dug deep, and instantaneously numbness flooded his body. Dean hit the ground before Castiel could fully pull away from Alastair, and the sounds of Lilith struggling with the Naga faded into the dull roar that rushed his ears. Black encroached his vision within two breaths, and on the third, nothing.

 

_ He was drifting. Endlessly drifting. The void of darkness should feel like an old friend at this point, but this was different. There was no creature here. No whispers of promise or pain. The presence of scales and claws that had almost become a comfort at this point in his dreams were lost to this new darkness. _

 

_ Dean was vaguely aware of a chill in his bones, small quakes dancing over his body in the timeless space. It was peaceful but inherently wrong. There was nothing menacing about the pitch, other than that he shouldn’t  _ **_be_ ** _ here. He felt it in his core. He didn’t belong here in this peace. _

 

His breath stuttered, a wash of frigid salt water coursing past his lips. Twin moons hung above him, framed by blue scales. Music rang in his ears, jarring in its intensity. His brain rattled under the onslaught of the notes coursing through him.

 

Water splashed over his face, and he was plunged back into the darkness.

 

_ A blue flame flickered into the ink of his surroundings, oddly warm in the cold place. It hung at a distance, bobbing in the black. It wavered, flickered, and danced, taunting him just out of reach. He reached, arm moving sluggish and weighted. Overwhelming exhaustion sank into his body, as if he’d been unaware of before when everything was dark, and the presence of the light illuminated his realization. _

 

_ He stretched desperately, craning for the light. After an eternity, his fingers brushed the halo of blue, and sound exploded from the flame, engulfing him in white-hot pain. _

  
  


Dean woke with a gasp. The darkness that greeted him surged panic in his chest, and for a dreadful moment, he was sure he’d died. That he’d given into the pitch that was fast filtering from his memory along with the flame.

 

The distant sound of the ocean grounded him, and he attempted to move. The exhaustion of his dream had followed him to reality, and even the act of wiggling was suddenly too much. He went slack, shuddering a heavy breath.

 

Whatever he was leaning against rose slightly, and the faint sound of breathing eased what was left of his nerves. Dean managed to crane his head back a little. Castiel’s forehead was buried against his shoulder, only his messy dark hair sticking up past Dean’s surprisingly bare shoulder. Dean waited until his eyes adjust to the dim moonlight, enough to see that Castiel’s long body was coiled around him much like it had been the night before. Where Castiel had merely been providing body warmth then, he was nearly cocooning Dean now. Even if he had the strength, there was no way Dean could draw away from Castiel, even if he wanted to.

 

Dean’s heartbeat weakly but steadily in his chest. Breathing felt like a chore, but he could draw in enough to stave off the swimming fatigue. He was alive, and he was going to count that as a hell of a win.

 

Relaxing back into Castiel’s protective hold, Dean let his eyelids slip closed as blackness swarmed his vision.

 

A gentle touch on his cheeks snapped the last hold sleep had on him. “Dean?” Castiel rumbled above, oddly gentle.

 

Dean’s face scrunched, and he made an unintelligible mumble. “I know Dean, but I need you to wake now. You need to drink water.” It sounded like a responsible demand, but it was more than Dean wanted to fill.

 

A hard pinch against his side shocked his eyes open, and he was met by Castiel’s faintly amused face suspended above him. Distantly, he remembered seeing Castiel hovering over him like this before, but he could have sworn his eyes were different. White, glowing… “Dean?”

 

Dean blinked hard, sucking in a deep breath to shake off the remains of sleep that clung stubbornly to his eyelids. He mumbled something close to, ”What time is it?” Which was stupid of him anyway. It wasn’t as if Castiel had a clock.

 

“Almost afternoon Dean, you’ve been asleep for nearly a day.” That woke him up.

 

“Are you serious?” His voice sounded worn and scratchy to his ears as if he’d just gotten over the worst cold in his life.

 

Dean wiggled a little to try and sit up, but Castiel was quick to loop an arm around his waist to help hoist him up until he was leaning back against Castiel’s stacked body.

 

A heartbeat later, he realized something else. “...Cas? Why am I naked?” He stared down at his bare thighs where they disappeared under the edge of the lighter portion of Castiel’s tail. Castiel was radiating heat slightly warmer than his usual, soaking into Dean’s bare body.

 

Castiel sighed softly, bending until he could press his upper body against Dean’s. “I…thought you would surely die. After that woman shot you, you succumbed so quick. I feared you would perish before I got you to the water.” The Naga’s voice was a slow drawl, stretched and tired.

 

“Why the water?” Dean murmured, slotting himself against Castiel with a quiet breath, content to share body heat

 

Castiel tightened the coil around Dean just slightly, “The cold of the water helped paralyze the poison in your body. It allowed me the time to sing your body awake long enough for it to dissipate. You were cold through and through, so I unclothed you and shared my heat with you again.”

 

Dean frowned lightly, faintly recalling the numbing notes he’d briefly woken to. They’d be terrible. Beautiful. And worse, pained. “I was awake? I don’t-…I thought I was dead. It just felt like…nothing.” He turned his face into Castiel’s lightly scaled shoulder, the sting of the sun in his eyes too much just yet.

 

“Your body was awake, but  _ you _ , most likely, were not.” Castiel’s right hand rose to comb through Dean’s hair, grounding them in the touch. “I could keep your body alive with my song, but I was…I was sure you’d already departed it.” His voice took a strained edge, and his coils tensed, resisting the urge to draw in even tighter.

 

“Oh.” Dean fell silent for a few minutes, basking in the sensation of fingers in his hair, and Castiel’s solid body encircling his own. “What happened to- you know.”

 

Minutes ticked on, and Dean started to wonder if Castiel fell asleep. Only the occasional pass of Castiel’s fingers against his crown said otherwise.

 

“I killed them both,” Castiel answered at length, a low growl bubbling at the back of his throat. “It will take days to restore the venom in my body, but it was worth it to hear their dying, paralyzed breaths.” The entire length of Castiel’s body trembled with the anger laced within his tone, a terrible hatred Castiel had purged from his body with each bite. “I’ll consume the bodies over this week, then I can sink the boat.”

 

Dean leaned up slightly, eyes wide. “ _ Consume _ ? You’re going to eat them?” He’d seen Castiel get down a lot of things, but the idea of the Naga snacking on a human was stomach churning.

 

“Yes, Dean. I’ve already partially consumed the male to keep us both warm.” Castiel’s body rolled, drawing Dean to a telling mass in the length of scales and muscle.

 

Dean paled a little, “O-oh. Right. I ugh, guess that’s one way to get rid of the bodies.” He couldn’t believe how easily he said that. They were talking about  _ people _ here, not fish or livestock. Still, Alastair and Lilith weren’t stellar representations of the human race, and Dean was glad they gave up the ghost instead of making away with Castiel. There was no telling what they would have done to him once they’d nabbed Castiel anyway.

 

Castiel’s hand stilled, eyes searching to find Dean’s. “Does that bother you?”

 

‘Yes’ was on the tip of his tongue, but Dean took a moment to consider. Even after Castiel told him he’d sang people to their deaths before, that he would likely do it again, Dean had still come back. He’d still wanted to protect Castiel…and he’d still shared a moment of  _ something _ with the Naga that morning. Like it or not, Castiel wasn’t human and wasn’t about to start acting like it either.

 

“I uh, I guess it’s just different.  _ Real _ different.” Dean smirked softly, leaning back into Castiel’s shoulder.

 

Another handful of minutes trickled by as they processed, Dean, lingering on what exactly he was going to do about all  _ this. _

 

“Why did you come back? Why did…Why did you share an embrace with me?” Castiel’s voice started strong, but it tapered to a quiet whisper by the end, as if he was fearful of the answer.

 

Dean’s weak body worked up just enough blood to get a pale blush, “Jesus Cas, always gotta ask the hundred-dollar questions, don’t you?” He swallowed around an abruptly dry mouth, “Remember one time I asked you why you let me leave the island, and you didn’t answer me?” Castiel nodded faintly, head dusking enough to hide his eyes from Dean’s line of sight. “You looked like you didn’t…care anymore, that you’d lost all hope for this world, and the more we talked, the more I came here, I thought that- Maybe, you were lonely.”

 

Now that he’d begun, he couldn’t stop, because if Dean clammed up now, there was no getting this out. He had to peel it off like a band-aid, and he guessed there was no better time than when he was stark naked and wearing Castiel like a blanket. “And I guess so was I. I didn’t even know it until I’d started looking forward to visiting. Looking for different shit to bring you…Wanting to tell Sammy what you’d said, like that you didn’t like mustard.” Dean laughed quietly, too tired to do much else.

 

“I get that…I get that I’m still a human and a shitty one at that. But-, fuck, I still want to be whatever the hell we are. I still want to come out here, if you…If you want me to after this.”

 

The tip of Castiel’s tail twitched, and it started to creep up Dean’s bare leg, not stopping until it curled around his shoulder, the tip resting just against Dean’s nape. The length of the appendage gently draped over his body was heavy, but not enough that Dean protested the weight. If anything, it was a comforting anchor.

 

“I’d- I’d like that, Dean. Very much.” Castiel whispered, turning his lips into the salted strands of Dean’s short hair.

  
  



	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has never had to do the whole 'meet the family' thing, so yeah, he's nervous, so sue him!

  
  


It felt like years since he last clung to the rails, watching the waves pass by as the  Poughkeepsie danced over the surface. She was an old girl, and there had been some trying times on his boat, but it still felt like home in a way.

 

If only Dean wasn’t being so damn weird about it.

 

“Jesus, Dean. How many cups of coffee have you had?” Sam leaned into the wheelhouse, watching his older brother drum his fingers against the wheel in double time. He returned for the summer, and in the week since he’d come home he’d noticed that Dean wasn’t acting like himself.

 

Okay, that wasn’t true. Dean was acting like a  _ version _ of himself. A better version Sam hadn’t been prepared for when he first stepped into the house to see the entire living room was changed. Dean hadn’t told him he’d been tinkering around the house, upgrading things where he could, repairing the long list of ‘eventualities’ they’d let slide for nearly a decade.

 

Weirder still, he hadn’t seen any beers in the fridge, or even in the trash. There had been  _ vegetables _ in the fridge. The entire dead rabbit wrapped in a newspaper had been a surprise he hadn’t wanted to see, but Dean had just shrugged a ‘don’t worry about it’ and gone back to cooking dinner.

 

“Not enough,” Dean smirked, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay, Sam remember how I said that I have something to show you?”

 

“…Yeah.” Sam didn’t like where this was going.

 

“It’s more like someone- Don’t fucking look at me like that, just hear me out.” Dean peeled himself from the wheel, facing his younger but frustratingly bigger brother with a seriousness Sam hadn’t seen on his face in years. “I can’t even begin to explain things here, so I’m just going to say, don’t freak out.”

 

Sam didn’t know who they could possibly be meeting out in the middle of the ocean, but he figured Dean must know another fisherman or someone else that worked on open sea vessels 

“Dean, if this is about you liking guys I already know, I kind of remember in high school-“

 

“Jesus Sam!” Dean threw out his hands with a groan, “Okay, that is relevant but not even- Just put a pin in that.” He groaned, turning back to the steering wheel as they neared ‘The Island.’

 

“…Dean? Please tell me we’re not going where I think we’re going. You know people aren’t supposed to go out there!” Sam remembered the stories as well as any kid growing up around here did. There were some areas you didn’t fish near, and this was one of them.

 

Dean chortled, waving off his concern with a secretive tilt to his smirk. “Believe me, Sammy, Don’t I know it. But that leads me to this- You can’t, under any circumstances, tell anyone we came out here today. Or who you’re going to meet. Promise me, Sam; if you can’t, we’ll go home right now.”

 

Oh, now Sam  _ knew _ this was a bad idea. “Dean, if you’ve gotten involved with anything illegal, I swear to god-” Dean leveled a look at him that stopped further nagging. Dean was dead serious. Whatever was on the island was important enough that Dean would bypass the nervous excitement he’d been bouncing around with all morning and turn the metaphorical car around and go home. “-Yeah Dean, no problem. I won’t.”

 

Dean’s shoulders eased a tad, and he reduced their speed to coat in close to the north of the island, into a small hidden section in the tall rocks. To his surprise, Dean pulled up to a small dock that looked brand new. No one had ever said the Island had been populated before.

 

Even with the dock, getting off the boat and onto the island was a chore. By the time they’d hauled down the two coolers Dean insisted on bringing, one of which Dean wouldn’t even let him look in, Sam was ready for the clandestine shit to end.

 

“Dean, what the hell are we doing here?” Sam grumbled, rubbing his shin where he’d tripped into the heaviest cooler trying to set it down. It felt like there was a dead body in there for how heavy the damn thing was.

 

“Shh.” Dean snapped, taking a few steps out towards the tree line. “Coast is clear! Get your ass out here before the pork spoils in this goddamn heat!”

 

The sun was blazing above, the lack of cloud cover pelting them mercilessly. They’d slathered two layers of sunscreen on while on their way, and Sam still felt like he was going to melt. Whatever was about to happen, he hoped it happened soon before-

 

“Dean!?” Sam wouldn’t admit to squeaking later, but as soon as he saw a figure start to bleed from the trees, the heat was the last of his worries.

 

Dean smiled brighter than Sam ever remembered seeing out of him and jogged off towards the impossible being slowly making its way towards them.

 

Dean paused in front of the  _ thing _ , and Sam had to plop down on one of the coolers to keep from crumpling to the dock after Dean leaned to shyly  _ kiss _ the creature..man..being? On the cheek.

 

The snake-man ducked his head with a pleased grin, and the two came closer until there was no denying what was right before his eyes.

 

Dean reached to tug Sam back to his feet, “Cas, this is Sam. Sammy, this is Cas- he’s a Naga.”

 

Dumbly, Sam stuck out his hand, knees wobbling uncertainty when Cas’ claw-tipped hand folded into his own. “Um…H…Hi?”

 

“Hello, Sam. Dean has said a great deal about you.”

 

The worst part of it all is that whenever Sam had to answer what the most awkward moment in his life was from here on out, he couldn’t even tell them about the time he had to meet his brother’s new boyfriend.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Check out Jdragon122's tumblr!: https://jdragon122.tumblr.com/  
> And Jdragon's ao3!: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jdragon122/profile
> 
> For more information, requests, or updates, go to: http://neonbat666.tumblr.com/ and search #Neon-writes or #Neon Write


End file.
